


The Deconstruction of Mr.Duncan

by squeezenz



Category: Zoo (TV)
Genre: AU, Episode Related, F/M, Season 3, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:42:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 111,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squeezenz/pseuds/squeezenz
Summary: How Jamie got her Mitch back.AU that accepts as canon anything up to and including episode 10 season 3 until the point where Jamie has just killed the invisible snake to retrieve the bio-drive switch, then it diverges from that timeline in several major ways.





	1. Duncan

**Author's Note:**

> Unashamedly Jamie/Mitch shipper, although Jamie/Duncan to start with and during the story.  
> Other team members appear throughout. Lots of naughty words and naughty deeds between (mostly) consenting adults so be warned.  
> Note: A truncated version of my original entry regarding when this story is set. (which was long, laborious and boring and cluttered up the end of the story)  
> So my story would be set however long it took them to progress, time-wise, (a couple of weeks at the very most, given the last 5 eps in the season take place over 2-3 days max)from collecting Mitch in Sept 2027 to the end of episode 10 where my story kicks off.  
> If you think I have it all wrong, then feel free to put me right.....

But first, to catch you up – In Copenhagen - Abigail has been knocked out by Jackson who taps her spinal fluid for their collection and ultimate cure. Sam Parker is rescued and taken to the plane by Abe thinking the boy is a victim. Abigail is brought aboard and Duncan is still Duncan but at gunpoint by Jamie. In the meantime, Dariela (in Milwaukee) is recruited by Agent Garrison to join the IADG in Boulder at the barrier command center. Special Agent Logan Hale is investigating a hybrid nest in Seoul, Korea after dealing with the ones found in the Black Forest that killed four trampers.  
Clementine is in the stasis tank because her baby is suffering from HDFN which Abe hopes will be cured by an infusion of blood from the baby's biological father. When Abe injects her with Sam's blood, not realizing it has been altered by Abigail, Clem reacts badly to whatever Abigail added to Sam's blood and Abe has to inject her with a hybrid hyper-growth serum (discovered in the squid thingies blood) to advance the pregnancy, saving the babies life. Sam is placed in lockup for interfering and being Abigail's stooge when Jackson explains he, Sam, was working with Abigail all the time. Jackson needs to get more spinal fluid from the hybrids in the nest because they're going to use what they already have to try and repair Abigail so they can learn her grand plan. They fly the plane to Seoul and Jackson goes to join Logan at one the nests there currently gestating in an abandoned basement carpark. Duncan, under instructions from Jamie, arranges for Abigail to die without waking up by switching infusions unknowingly administered by Abe to help her recover. When Abigail supposedly dies it triggers a dead-man switch lodged in her neck, that in turn activates a beacon in Tokyo that then activates more around the world triggering more nests to become active in places they didn't realize they were around the world. Abe manages to get it to start downloading its raw data to Dariela at the IADG command center in Boulder. At the same time, Duncan tries to get the bio-drive switch from Jamie by threatening his own life, and thereby Mitch's. He and Jamie fight for possession but a snake hybrid gets it first, thanks to Max smuggling an egg onto the plane. Jamie finally gets the device out of the snake, but Duncan knocks it out of her hand, meanwhile, Abigail is far from dead.....now read on. 

 

Jamie managed to shove Duncan into an access hatch, stunning him. Before Max could reach down to collect the device, Jamie grabbed it first. As they stared at each other, Duncan stirred.  
“You can get rid of me now, but the die has been cast.”  
Jamie held the device so he could see it clearly, her thumb hovering over the button.  
“What do you mean?” she demanded. Duncan grimaced.  
“We left a treat for you. Death is only the beginning.”  
Max suddenly made a grab for the device. “Screw this, I want my son back!”  
The bio-drive controller flew out of Jamie's hand onto the floor, just as Max stepped forward, the two actions coinciding with the destruction of the switch before it could be activated.  
She stared in horror at the broken pieces under Max's boot.  
Duncan lay silent, slumped against the aircraft door, eyes closed and bleeding sluggishly from several wounds, some reopened from when he'd been thrown about the cabin while Jamie tried to reboot the plane.  
“He's still Duncan!” she screamed, while Max looked on, ashen-faced.  
“But you said...”Max stuttered, gesturing to the man on the floor. “...I saw you press the button.”  
At their feet, Duncan opened his eyes.  
“Mitch?” Max called to his son, but the man on the floor shook his head.  
“How many times do I have to repeat myself...”  
Jamie produced a pistol and pointed it at Duncan. “Get up. Keep your hands where I can see them.”  
Duncan winced as he slowly rose to his full height, his hands held up at his sides in plain view. He glanced down at the floor where the remains of the device lay smashed beyond repair. “No more Mitch, what a shame.”  
“Shut up!” Jamie hissed at him. “Move, and don't even think of twitching or I'll blow a hole in you.”  
“You'd wound your precious Mitch? I don't think so, but for now, I'll do as you say. I have enough bruises for one day.” He advanced across the room, limping slightly, prodded along by Jamie. Max remained staring down at the floor, his chance to get his son back crushed beneath his feet. 

“Get in there,” Jamie instructed, waving the pistol to indicate the cage door. Duncan did as instructed, his dark eyes keeping her within his line of vision. Sam Parker, the current occupier of the lockup eyed the newcomer warily.  
“Why's he here?” Sam asked. “What's happening with my baby?”  
Jamie ignored him, her focus entirely on Duncan.  
“What are you going to do now?” Duncan asked. “I'm not aware that there is a backup device, so what you see is what you get from now on.”  
“Shut up.” Jamie slammed the door closed and locked it, only then lowering her gun hand. She ached all over, not least in her chest where she was sure her heart had split apart. Her Mitch was quite possibly lost to her forever, his counterpart lacking all of his softer, lovable traits. Even his name didn't suit him – Charles Duncan.  
“Why the hell did she call you that?” she asked, weary to the bone.  
Duncan shrugged. “It's the name I woke up to. Never queried it.”  
Jamie turned away, swiping at her eyes.  
“Hey? How long are you going to hold me?” Sam shouted.  
Duncan glanced at the younger man, then back at Jamie.  
“What he said.”  
She didn't turn around. “As long as I damn well want to.”

Jamie climbed the stairs, her feet dragging. What a fucking disaster. 

The sound of gunfire brought her back to the present, her instinct to duck saving her life. Abigail fired again, the bullet gouging into the wall behind Jamie's head. She returned fire, hitting Abigail in the center of her chest, putting her down. Jamie peered around the chair that had shielded her and stared at the body of Jackson's sister. The woman wasn't moving, but then they'd all thought she was dead before. When a minute ticked by and the woman still didn't move, Jamie approached her gun at the ready. A kick from her boot still elicited no response, so she moved forward, this time firing a bullet to hit right between the wide open, staring eyes, leaving a neat back hole.  
“Come back from that, bitch!”  
Leaving the corpse behind, she searched for the others, finding Max bleeding out in the corridor.  
“Shit!” She holstered her gun and knelt beside the old man, her bloody fingers feeling for a pulse. “Dammit Max, don't do this, not now.” she bent down and listened to his chest, but there was no heartbeat discernible. Abigail had taken her revenge. “I'm so sorry, Max.”  
Getting to her feet she slipped through the plane in case there were any further surprises, reaching the center section only to see the body of Abe sprawled on the floor, a puddle of blood underneath him.  
“Abe? Abe?” She rushed down the stairs and reached the big man. There was a wound on his back, but that was only bleeding slowly, it was whatever had happened to his front that was the problem. She heard the sound of a truck, then a door slamming.  
“Jackson!” she screamed. The sound of feet running towards her was the most welcome sound, Jackson appearing and throwing down his backpack.  
“What the hell happened?” he shouted, falling beside his friend and staring at the blood.  
“Abigail, she's stabbed him. Help me turn him over.”  
Together they got the man onto his back, seeing the wound so close to his heart, blood still flowing freely.  
“We have to stop the bleeding,” said Jamie, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the floor and pressing them hard against the wound. Jackson helped, his larger hand holding the rapidly blood-soaked wad of paper to his friend's chest.  
“Where's Mitch? Why isn't he here helping?” Jackson asked.  
“Mitch isn't here. We only have Duncan. I locked him up with Sam.”  
Jackson stared at her for a beat. “What about Max, he'll know what to do!”  
Jamie swallowed hard. “Max is dead. Abigail shot him. She would have shot me as well, but I was faster.”  
“Abigail...is dead?” Jackson asked. Jamie looked up and smiled grimly.  
“As dead as a bullet to the heart and one to the head will make her.”  
“You killed her,” Jackson stated.  
“Did you listen to a word I said? She stabbed Abe, shot Max and would have shot me. Her heart might have stopped, but she was alive. Whatever she was, hybrid or human, I've yet to see one rise from the grave after being shot in the fucking head. Now keep the damn pressure on, I'll see if I can persuade Duncan to save him.”  
Jamie staggered to her feet, her hands even more gory from ministering to Abe. Jackson watched her leave, his expression one of shock and grief. 

Jamie clattered down the stairs, her gun once more in her hand. Duncan and Sam stood at opposite ends of the lockup, staring at her. She waved the pistol at Duncan.  
“I need you to be a doctor again.”  
Duncan stared back at her, his dark eyes hard. “Now why should I do that?”  
Jamie drew in a steadying breath. “Because I just sent the person you serve to hell, and I expect payment for doing you a service.”  
Sam stepped forward, his face stricken. “Abigail is dead?”  
Duncan moved up to the bars, his hands curling around them as his eyes searched Jamie's for the truth.  
“You thought she was dead before,” he said.  
“And you said death was only the beginning, so we were both wrong. Whatever she's begun, she won't be around to see it anytime soon. You're free of your servitude to her, now you have a choice. You can spend your freedom rotting in this cage, or you can help save the life of a good man. Choose quickly.” She held up the pistol to point directly at his head.  
“Not really much of a choice,” Duncan argued.  
“Don't really give a fuck. Choose.” Jamie cocked the pistol, her hand rock steady.  
Duncan shrugged. “How bad is he?”

Jackson looked up to see Jamie enter the room, Duncan trailing behind.  
“It looks like he's been stabbed front and back. The front is worse.” Jamie explained.  
“We need to get him up off the floor if I'm to have any hope of saving his life,” Duncan explained.  
Between them, they managed to get Abe onto the metal gurney so recently occupied by Abigail. Duncan immediately started to sort through the equipment arrayed on both sides.  
“Cut off his shirt while I get ready, once you've done that get some gloves on, I'll need your help.” He turned to look specifically at Jamie.  
“I'm not a doctor, not even a nurse!” she confessed, looking scared.  
“You're all I have. Now get busy,” He ordered.  
“What can I do?” Jackson asked.  
“We're going to need oxygen, and get in touch with someone on the outside. I'll only be able to stop the bleeding, he's going to need more than we've got here if he's going to survive long term.”  
Jackson did as instructed, then once the oxygen was sorted, raced off to get hold of the IADG to organize a medical team and transport to a local hospital. On his return he slipped upstairs and filled a syringe with more of Abigails spinal fluid to add to their hybrid collection.  
Meanwhile, Jamie had cut away Abe's shirt laying bare his chest and the gaping stab wound still seeping blood.  
Duncan had a selection of tools laid out on a metal tray along with small pads of gauze. Jamie watched as he wiped at the blood to get a better look at the gash, his calm, gruff voice instructing her what to do as he went. As the minutes ticked by she handed him what he asked for, and monitored Abe's pulse and breathing while Duncan worked.  
When they heard the distant wail of the ambulance, Abe was no longer losing blood, the wound stitched. Between them, they turned the big man on his side to inspect the wound in his back, the cut deep but not big, a large clot stopping any more blood from leaking out.  
“We can just dress this one and leave it for the professionals,” Duncan announced, taking the next few minutes to clean the wound and cover it before laying Abe back down. Jackson was at the ramp directing the medical team on board. Duncan and Jamie stood out of the way, peeling off their gloves watching as the medics rolled Abe onto their gurney to take him out to the waiting ambulance.  
“I'm going with Abe,” Jackson announced. “I've told the IADG about Abigail, they'll send a team to collect her body.” He paused to gather up his dropped backpack. “I'll keep Dariela up to date.” He stared at Duncan, then back at Jamie. “Will you be alright alone here with him?”  
Jamie glanced at Duncan. “We'll be fine.”

Duncan stood with his hands on his hips among the wreckage of the lab-come-surgery.  
“I guess I can leave now?”  
Jamie turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Where do you think you'll go?”  
For a second Jamie could have sworn Duncan looked perplexed as if he'd never considered the question before. His next words confirmed it.  
“I-I don't know.”  
“Abigail is dead, so she no longer controls you.”  
“I know, but I'm not entirely sure...” he pressed his lips together as if to stop himself confessing so much.  
Jamie looked down at the floor. “Look. Our team is at a standstill at the moment. As much as I'd like to lock you up and throw away the key, I need your help.”  
“I'm listening.”  
She looked at him. “I need to make arrangements for Max. Despite you not being Mitch, he was still your father. He needs to be sent back to Helsinki to be buried. I need to advise Allison of what's happened...”  
“Who's Allison?”  
“Max's ex-wife, your ex-mother-in-law and your ex-girlfriend.”  
Duncan looked both surprised and impressed. “Your Mitch has history.”  
“Who doesn't,” Jamie replied quellingly. “You also have a daughter currently carrying your grandchild in a stasis-tank below our feet.”  
Duncan let out a short, snide laugh. “This just gets better and better.”  
“For bed and board until you have somewhere better to go, will you stay and help?” Jamie snapped, her teeth clenched.  
Duncan stared back at her, his dark eyes a closed book to her. She was about to turn away when he spoke.  
“Until a more attractive offer turns up.” He grinned wolfishly at her. Jamie shivered as chills swept up and down her spine.  
“Fine. You can start with cleaning up this place. I have to go and make arrangements for Max, and find out how far away the team is to collect Abigail's body.”  
“Yus, Boss.”  
Jamie eyed him for a second then turned to leave. She noticed the small, flashing circuit next to the laptop and picked it up, tucking it into a pocket before carrying on out of the lab.  
Duncan watched her leave, his shoulders relaxing now he was no longer under threat of being shot. He looked around the devastated room and reached down to pick up a plastic beaker, scattered like the others, all around the floor. 

Jamie stood at the ramp and watched the IADG team carry the black body bag around to the back of the truck and load it aboard. A local funeral director had already been to collect Max to be prepared to be flown back to Helsinki, Finland, now the remains of Jackson's sister were gone too. The IADG said they would contact Allison about Max, taking that load of Jamie's shoulders.  
Duncan had done as she'd asked and was making inroads into putting things back to rights in the plane's central space. Rubbing the back of her neck, she closed up the back of the plane and walked along the corridor to the lab.  
If it had been Mitch, instead of Duncan, she would have taken herself off to lay down, after having a long hot shower to sooth some of her bruises, as well as asking him to dress some of her cuts. But it wasn't Mitch, it was Duncan, and despite their apparent truce, she couldn't trust him an inch.  
There was still Clementine to check on, and what was she going to do with Sam?  
“If I thought you'd take my advice, I'd suggest you sit down before you fall down.” His deep, laconic voice jerked her out of her thoughts.  
Jamie looked around, noting that the worst of the broken glass had been swept to one side, while the intact glass and plasticware were all back on their shelves and benchtops.  
“There's the same level of destruction on the next floor up,” Jamie informed him, heading for the stairs. Duncan watched her go, noting her slumped shoulders and dragging feet. 

When everything had been put to rights in the lab, he made his way up the stairs to the lounge area. As Jamie had stated the place was a mess, most of the damage done when the plane had been careening out of control the first time he found himself aboard. Now, after the fight, it was just a disaster, glass strewn everywhere and bullet holes in the upholstery. He stared down at the bloodstained floor where the woman he'd served for more years than he cared to remember, had finally met her match. Jamie Campbell may be slight, but she knew how to fight, something Abigail hadn't counted on in her quest to destroy the team ranged against her. He was confounded that the woman who obviously felt so strongly about his alter-ego, Mitch Morgan, had offered him somewhere to stay while he sorted out what to do with his life. If he didn't know that he was incapable of feeling that way, he'd almost admit to feeling sorry for the girl for losing this Mitch person. And that was the paradox. He, Charles Duncan, was also Mitch Morgan. They shared a brain, a brilliance, and a body. He was Mitch Morgan, only unencumbered by a history, any memory of relationships other than with Abigail, and without a moral compass to lead him astray. As he worked to tidy up the room, he pondered on his strange relationship with Abigail Westbrook. 

From the first time he'd awoken into an unknown world, she'd been brutally honest with him, to the point of cruelty. He'd known the body he inhabited was not his own, that the brain he used belonged to a man who was supposed to have died, which accounted for the horrible scars marring the perfectly ordinary shell. Without the hindrance of history or memory and a moral turpitude bordering on psychotic, his life became an exercise in ways to destroy humanity and reshape it in whatever form Abigail wanted. His brain became the creator of a new compound, Melvatox-B that had the ability to enhance brain function in the area of ESP, he also designed the beacons, their inherent purpose to destroy wherever they were installed in the event of being interfered with, while also drawing forth the hybrids to aid in that destruction, regardless of pity or compassion for the people caught up in the madness. Abigail was the evil genius behind the design and manufacture of the hybrids themselves, he was the equally mad genius behind the technology to disseminate them once hatched. In the ten years they had to plan, design and execute they'd covered the world, all under the very noses of the people themselves with no one any the wiser until it was too late. 

Now Abigail was truly dead, her final trick used up for no good purpose. Her unique physiology that would allow her to become Lazarus, only good for a few minutes before being ended by Jamie Campbell and a well-placed bullet to the head.

His place in the world was now unknown. If the authorities figured out what he'd done, he'd never see daylight again, but morally the original owner of the body hadn't done anything wrong, in fact quite the opposite. Although he hadn't known it, Mitch Morgan had been fighting against himself. How would the law figure that one out? But Mitch Morgan was also dead, figuratively speaking, only Charles Duncan was still alive to witness what came next. 

Jamie sat on a chair in the tank room and stared at Clementine, still encased in the blue fluid, and her now heavily pregnant body. How on earth was she supposed to tell the girl about her father? Let alone her grandfather's fate. The tank started to beep insistently and Jamie pulled herself out of her funk and walked over to look at the read-out. She was glad now that Mitch had insisted that she know what to do in the event they had to bring Clementine awake and out of the tank. If she was reading the screen correctly, that was exactly what the machine was doing – waking the patient in readiness to exit the tank. Pushing the appropriate sequence of buttons, Jamie stood back to watch Clem's reaction, seeing the girl's eyes open just before the foot straps released her, allowing her to swim to the surface. Jamie pushed over the metal stairs and climbed up, several towels in hand.

Clementine Lewis sat on the edge of the tank and accepted the dry towel gratefully. She felt off balance with her stomach now protruding so far. She coughed to expel the last of the oxygenated tank fluid before accepting Jamie's hand to get to her feet.  
“Where's Dad?” she asked, following Jamie down the steps to the floor.  
“Here, wrap this around you,” Jamie handed her another towel, bigger enough to wrap her completely.  
“Jamie? Where's my Dad?” Clem asked again. Jamie was avoiding meeting her eyes, making her nervous.  
“Clem, there's been a bit going on around here,” Jamie tried to explain.  
“What sort of things? I mean other than this?” she pointed to her distended body. “I haven't been in there for eight months, have I?”  
Jamie shook her head. “Not even close. Abe must have injected the tank with something to bring your pregnancy forward, to help the baby develop more quickly.”  
“Well, duh! Now stop with the crap and tell where the hell my Dad is?”  
“Clem. Your Dad....Mitch...” Jamie struggled to explain, her eyes welling despite her best efforts to fight back her emotions.  
“Jamie? Is Dad dead?” Clem's horrified whisper snapped her out of her daze.  
“No. No, he's not dead, but he's also not here...that is, his body is here, but he isn't.”  
Clem looked confused. “What the hell does that mean?”  
“It means that your Dad's alter ego, Charles Duncan is here and we can't switch him back to Mitch.”  
Clem frowned heavily. “His alter what? You're not making any sense.”  
Jamie sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I know, and I'm sorry Clem, but there's no easy way to explain. Abigail Westbrook apparently rescued Mitch from the hybrid attack ten years ago on Pangea and he's been working for her ever since as..as somebody else. The bio drive in his head can be switched to an alternative personality that is fine working with Abigail, but can also be switched back to his original personality, Mitch Morgan, with no memory of the other and vicer-versa.”  
“Then switch him back to Dad!”  
“I can't. The device to do that was broken by mistake.”  
Clem gaped at her. “So we can't get him back ever?”  
Jamie threw up her hands in helpless surrender. “I don't know, I just don't know.”  
Clem started to pace. “What about we take the damn thing out, use that pig thing like we did before?”  
“We tried that, remember? There's a real possibility that if we take the bio-drive out then Mitch...Duncan will forget everything and everyone, you and me included.”  
“So he'd also forget what he did with Abigail, all the tech stuff, and the hybrids?”  
Jamie nodded. “Yes. He'd forget all that and have to start afresh from whenever it was done, onwards.”  
Clem stopped pacing. “Well, isn't that better than leaving him as this Duncan person?”  
“I...I can't take that sort of responsibility, Clem. You're asking if it's okay to wipe everything your father ever learned, his memories, his life would be all gone.”  
“He'd still have us to act as his memories, and Max knows all about his upbringing.”  
Jamie hung her head. “Clem, Max is dead, he was shot by Abigail earlier today.”  
Clem closed her eyes, her lips pressed tight together in grief.  
“Grampa's dead? When is this nightmare supposed to end?” she sobbed, bending forward over her stomach, cradling the bump in her arms. Jamie had to bite her lip to prevent her own tears from falling. She's liked Max, the man seeing clear through her own confused emotions to the heart of the matter, that Jamie loved his son. Now he'd never see his great-grandson or have that chance to reconcile with his own son.  
“Clem, you need to get into some dry clothes and rest up, it wouldn't hurt to let...er...Duncan take a look at you as well.”  
The girls head shot up. “Are you kidding me? You want that parasite keeping my Dad prisoner to check me out?”  
“Then let me drive you to the hospital. Jackson is already there with Abe...”  
Clem clutched at her arm. “What happened to Abe?”  
“Abigail stabbed him in the back, then in the chest. Duncan stitched him up to stop the bleeding and Jackson went with the ambulance to the hospital.”  
“Oh, poor Dariela, does she know?”  
“Yes. Jackson is keeping her informed about Abe.”  
Clem suddenly looked around the room. “Are we safe here? Is that madwoman still on the loose?”  
“No, Clem. She won't be hurting anyone else, ever. The IADG picked up her body awhile ago and took it off the plane.”  
“And what about this Duncan person? Is he locked up?”  
“Well....er....no, not exactly.”  
“Why the hell not? He's holding my Dad to ransom, as well as being Abigail's accomplice. He should be arrested or something!”  
“Yeah. Well, it's not quite that simple. I understand what you're saying but it's not quite that black and white.”  
“Hah! I'll show him what's black and white....oooh, ow, shit..”  
“Clem?”  
“Crap, I think...” at that precise moment a stream of liquid started to puddle on the floor around their feet. “Yeah. My waters just broke. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Jamie only realized that she hadn't mentioned a single thing about the young man, Sam Parker, incarcerated in the belly of the plane when Clem was lying on one of the beds in the dormitory, a towel under her, and contractions starting to happen closer and closer together. Duncan stood in the doorway, his face impassive. Jamie had called him to help get the girl up the stairs, the man picking Clem up bodily and carrying her, heedless of the string of curses coming from the girl's mouth as her womb squeezed unmercifully to expel the baby. Now Clem lay writhing on the bed with Jamie trying her best to help, while they all waited for another team of medics to arrive to deliver the first baby in a decade to be born.  
“Clem, I know you're not really focused, but I have to tell you something!”  
“What!?” Clem gasped, her teeth clenched.  
“We found Sam, your Sam. He's here on the plane.”  
Clem's eyes popped open and she rounded her lips in a silent 'oh', breathing in short panting bursts to try to alleviate some of the pain. When she could talk, she grabbed hold of Jamie's shirt.  
“Where the fuck is he? He should be here.....oh, God....”  
Jamie looked up at Duncan who raised an eyebrow. “I'll need the keylock release code.”  
Jamie quickly told him and he peeled away, leaving the women alone. Minutes later and Sam tore into the room, advancing on the bed. Clem looked up at him wild-eyed, her body arching as another contraction gripped her.  
“Sam!” she wailed, reaching for his hand. Jamie happily surrendered her own abused digits to the young man, Sam foregoing unnecessary chatter and immediately starting to do Lamaze breathing as if he'd been training for months. Jamie went to stand in the doorway, then froze as she felt a presence behind her. She made herself relax, lowering her shoulders and taking a deep breath.  
“I wish that medical team would hurry up,” she muttered, rubbing her hands together.  
“Why don't you go look out for them, I'll stay here,” Duncan's growl made the hairs on her arms prickle. Jamie simply nodded and swung away from the doorway, keeping her distance from him. 

She had just lowered the plane's ramp when an ambulance careened into view, sirens wailing and lights on full. She hadn't realized it was starting to get dark out, the day drawing to a close. As she ushered the medics aboard, she marveled that her usual ability to sense the passage of time had deserted her.  
A piercing scream drew the medics at a run and Jamie hung back to give them space. Duncan also backed out of the room, standing with his hands in his pockets in such a Mitch attitude that Jamie was hard pressed not to scream at him to stop doing that, stop reminder her of what she'd lost. Instead, she stood in the doorway while the medical team prepared to welcome their first infant in ten years into the world.

The birth was fast and violent, the babe expelled into the world in a rush, a loud and healthy squawl heralding its arrival. Clem collapsed back onto the pillows, her work for the moment done. Sam still held her hand, his knuckles white from the pressure. Jamie made to slip away unnoticed but she'd forgotten about Duncan, their bodies colliding, his hands steadying her as she reeled. At the end of her rope, she took a swing at him, her reactions so slowed by exhaustion he was easily able to deflect her blow and instead turned her within the circle of his arms so that hers were crossed over her own chest, her back to him, effectively trapping her. At the same time, he'd moved them away from the doorway, hiding them from those inside. Normally Jamie would have easily broken his grip on her and fought like a wildcat, but she was so damned tired and now horribly emotional seeing the whole birth process on top of everything else she'd been suppressing all day, she simply couldn't hold it in anymore. He felt so much like Mitch, smelled like him, and when she wasn't looking at him, she could kid herself it was his voice telling her to stop trying to hold it all in. In a moment of weakness she started to cry, her sobs muffled as she bit down hard on her lip.  
The man holding her loosened his grip and she suddenly turned to bury her face against his shirt, her fingers clutching the fabric, eyes tightly closed, shoulders heaving. 

Duncan held his hands away from touching her, letting them just hover millimeters from her arms while she wept all over his shirt front. He'd expected a quite different reaction, bracing himself for whatever pummelling she chose to inflict on him for touching her. Instead, he could only look down at the top of her head in consternation, the technique of dealing with an emotional woman quite outside his sphere of experience. He'd watched the birth with disinterest until a flash of something similar placed a picture in his mind of a different time and place, a different woman laboring to bring his child into the world. It was gone in an instant but it surprised him with its emotional intensity, so much so that he didn't move out of the way fast enough to avoid colliding with the woman currently pressed against him. 

Jamie dug her fingers into the soft shirt and twisted them to keep the body underneath close. She wept for Max, for herself, for the new baby and for Mitch, forever locked away from all he'd known. That Mitch wouldn't know or be aware he was missing out, made it all the more poignant and she sobbed harder, her fingers gripping the soft material as if it was her only lifeline. 

Duncan slowly let his hands settle on the woman's arms, his touch so soft she hardly registered it. He thought he should say something, but he was so out of his depth his brain refused to think of anything remotely relevant to the situation. Only when Sam appeared in the doorway holding his infant son, his face beaming with pride did Duncan try to draw Jamie's attention away from her current misery.  
“Jamie...” his gruff growl seemed to penetrate and she suddenly released his shirt and tried to jerk away, only to stumble, his hands keeping her upright when she would have fallen on her butt. Using the heels of her hand she wiped her face.  
“You can let go now,” she hissed, his hands releasing their hold instantly. Perversely she wished them back the next second. Instead, she turned to face Sam, a smile pinned to her face.  
In the face of such a monumental occasion, bygones were bygones and Sam happily showed off his son to Jamie, the child blinking unfocused at the shapes moving over him.  
“He's beautiful, Sam,” Jamie said, still very aware of the man standing behind her in the passageway. Even as she thought that Duncan moved several feet further down the hallway, putting a distance between them. Sam didn't notice and turned back into the bedroom, returning to sit beside Clementine, the medics removing the afterbirth into a special container to be preserved for study and stem cells. Clem lay against the pillows, smiling up at Sam who held the baby forward for her to kiss and stroke while the medics pressed a pad between her legs and cleaned away any soiled linens into a bag.  
“We need to do a quick APGAR evaluation and take a blood sample,” one of the nurses told Clem. “We'd also like to take some of your blood and from the father.”  
Clem nodded, holding out her arm, Sam doing the same minutes later. The baby submitted to being examined and was given a clean bill of health before being wrapped up again and handed back, this time to Clem. One of the nurses stepped forward.  
“It will help the uterus to contract if you try to breastfeed. Do you feel up to trying?”  
Clem nodded and was helped to sit up against the pillows, the baby put to the breast. It took a couple of attempts but at last the baby latched on properly and Clem smiled down at her son sucking strongly. The nurse showed her how to break the suction when the baby was done, and talked to her briefly about nipple care. The rest of the medics were busy writing up notes on their tablets or packing up their supplies.  
“If you're ready, Miss Lewis, we'll organize a gurney to get you into the ambulance.”  
Clem looked up, instantly wary. “Do I have to go to the hospital? Can't I stay here?”  
Jamie spoke up from the doorway. “Sam could go with you, Clem. Just overnight to make sure there are no complications.”  
Clem looked at Sam. “We could visit Abe and see how he's doing, as well as show him and Jackson the new arrival.”  
“Whatever makes you happy,” Sam replied, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. 

Jamie watched from the top of the ramp as Clem and the baby were loaded into the back of the Ambulance, Sam climbing aboard a second later. Then it was gone, driving slowly back along the runway and out of sight. It was now full dark outside and she shivered, glad to close the ramp door.  
As she turned to leave the vehicle bay she halted, Duncan once more standing before her. As usual, his face was impassive, lacking all animation, his dark eyes so unlike Mitch it hurt to look at them.  
“I'll show you where you can sleep,” she said, brushing past him, careful not to let any part of them touch. He noted her flushed face but forebore to comment, simply following her back to the rooms off the lounge area.  
She passed the one so recently used as a birthing chamber, sliding the door shut before moving on to the next, also passing that by. At the third door down she stopped and opened the sliding door. Going into the room she bent down to gather up several items into her arms before stepping into the small bathroom, clearing out more personal items there. Avoiding meeting his eyes, she stood near the sliding door.  
“This was Mitch's...it's yours now, for as long as you stay on the plane. You'll find clothes in the drawer and a shaving kit in the bathroom. I'll find you a toothbrush to use.”  
Duncan stood just inside the door and stared around the room. It looked the same as all the others, for the most part, the furniture and fittings standard for each suite. Small personal details made it unique. A glasses case sat on the bedside table, along with a puzzle book, pencil, and eraser. On top of the single chest of drawers were a small collection of rocks. When he picked one up it he found a fossil of a leaf on the underside, each detail picked out in relief. Another rock revealed a treasure of purple crystals held inside, the geode sitting comfortably in the palm of his hand. Replacing the mementos, he opened the first drawer finding it containing clothing as expected. He closed the drawer slowly, not bothering to look any further. Walking to the bed he sat down on the edge, his elbows resting on his knees.  
Jamie appeared in the doorway, his black wool coat over her arm, a toothbrush, still in its packaging in her free hand. Without a word she handed them both to him, stepping back hurriedly as if expecting him to pounce on her.  
“I'm going to get cleaned up and then go to the hospital. We only have the one vehicle, so if you choose to leave it will have to be on foot.”  
Duncan tilted his head to look up at her. “And where do you suppose I can go? I have no money,  
I've never been to this country that I know of and Abigail is dead, as you are fond of reminding me.”  
Jamie couldn't hold his stare, looking anywhere in the room except at him. Unfortunately, her eyes settled on the glasses case on the bedside table, a poignant reminder not only of Mitch but of her decade's long search - only to have it all snatched away from her. Still vulnerable, she couldn't stop a tear from slipping through her carefully constructed veneer and tracing its way down her face.  
Duncan saw it and looked over at what had her sole focus.  
Jamie swiped at her face and turned to leave. “I'll let you know when I'm ready to go.”  
He didn't stop her, listening to her footfalls until she shut the door to her room, then it went quiet. 

Jamie tilted her face into the stream of hot water and just stood there, letting it soak into her bones. She felt stupid for letting her emotions get the better of her. She had to stop thinking that Duncan bore any relation to Mitch, he didn't. They were as distant from each other as the moon from the  
Earth. Whatever her feelings for Mitch, she had to bury them deep. Even if a way was found to remove the bio drive, supposing Duncan allowed that to be done, it would still leave them with a man that no longer remembered anything either before, during or since the last decade. That was no kindness to anyone, least of all her. There was always the remote possibility that with the passage of time some of the memories might return, but was she really willing to bet her future on that slim chance? If not, then she had to box up her wayward heart and bury it deep. Duncan was who he was, a construct created by a madwoman. In a way, she supposed she had Abigail and Duncan to thank for having Mitch back for even that small time. She just wasn't sure if having him back only to be snatched away, was better or worse than thinking him dead. It all came down to hope. For her, all hope was now gone and she had to find a way to carry on. 

Shutting off the water, she stepped out, careful of her balance with her prosthetic toe still sitting in her boot. Losing her big toe didn't limit her, she just had to take extra care when walking about barefoot. Wrapping a towel tightly around her torso, she left the ensuite to find a change of clothes. Having sorted out what she would wear to visit Clem and Abe, she toweled her hair until it fluffed out around her head as it had a want to do before she tamed it with brushing. Several dark patches were starting to bloom down her arms and on her legs, the result of her tussles with Duncan, that at least was one thing the two men had in common, a complete incompetence at hand-to-hand combat. If Mitch or Duncan had done a modicum of training in years past he could have thrown her off as easily as swatting a fly. Instead, he'd come off the worse, bested by a woman half his size. Lucky for her. Overtaken by a huge yawn, she lay sideways on the bed, intending only to rest for a moment before getting dressed. Instead, as soon as her head hit the pillow she was sucked under into a deep sleep.

Duncan had cleaned himself up, taking a quick shower before shaving the worst of the scruff off his cheeks. A change of clothes later and he sat on the bed waiting for Jamie to pass his door on her way out. He'd thought it over and decided that to get to know these people would probably be a good idea, given his precarious situation. After living and working with Abigail, a logical and precise woman not given to emotional outbursts of any kind, it was disturbing to find that there were people who behaved like her complete opposite, most of them seemingly living on this plane. All of them appeared to base their bad decisions on a constant weighing up of the pros and cons of a situation, instead of taking direct action and damn the consequences. If he'd taken even a moment to consider exactly what the consequences were of his chemical and technical designs or care for that matter, he'd never had done anything. Abigail had done him a favor by keeping all that decision making out of his hands. If he repeated that mantra enough times he'd convince himself it was still the truth. 

Another half hour slipped away and Jamie still hadn't appeared. Refusing to admit to feeling anything remotely related to concern, he smoothed any suggestion of emotion from his face and set out to find why she was taking so long. He knocked on her door, but there was no reply. Had she somehow slipped passed without him realizing? Angry with himself, he slid the door open and stepped into the room. The first thing that hit him was the strong smell of soap and shampoo filling the warm room, then he noticed the figure on the bed. He walked forward and stood staring down at the woman sleeping soundly, if not entirely peacefully. He started his inspection from the top of her head, the red hair not as sleek as usual, more fluffy and softly wavy, his fingers reaching out to touch it, rubbing the strands between his fingertips. He tilted his head to study her profile, washed clean of blood, tears, and makeup she looked younger, less careworn. As his gaze continued downwards he drew in a breath, seeing dark bruises the same size and shape of a gripping hand clearly visible on her shoulders, arms, and wrists. Had he really been the one to put those there? There was a patch of bruising along her jawline and another on her forehead. He winced when he remember thumping her head against the marble top of the bar before she retaliated and kneed him in the guts, knocking the wind out of him. The hand and fingerprints perfectly matched his digits when he held them over the bruises without actually touching her skin. The same marks were evident on her legs, his eyes drawn to her feet, his eyebrows rising as he noted the missing big toe. Somehow the sight of that missing toe took him aback, that sometime in the past she had been maimed, her delicate beauty marred with ugliness. Keeping himself firmly under control, he did his best to appear impassive, his gaze sweeping up the slender body again, noting the shadows under her eyes and the translucency of her skin. 

It was obvious that Jamie Campbell was going nowhere until her body had had a chance to recover from the turmoils of the day, both physical and emotional. To that end he untucked the covers and pulled them over so that she was no longer exposed to the cooling air, taking extra care to encase her feet so they wouldn't get cold. 

He switched off the overhead light before he left, leaving one of the bedside lamps to provide a soft illumination so she wouldn't wake up in the dark. Choosing not to examine his actions too closely, he slid the door shut behind him and went back to his own room, changing out of his jeans and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. He padded along to the lounge and rustled up something to eat and drink, consuming his meal alone and in silence. That done he returned to his room after shutting off most of the lights inside the plane, leaving the ones in the hallway outside the bedrooms on, and one in the lounge. Satisfied he'd done everything necessary, he fell into bed and lay in the dark staring up at the ceiling until sleep claimed him.


	2. Conflicts and Conundrums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan starts to question his preconceptions, while Jamie searches for the right button to push...

The morning started very early for Jamie, waking from a dream to find herself cozily cocooned in her own bed covers with no memory of having pulled them over. The towel lay under her, having come unraveled in the night sometime. Getting up, she rewrapped it about her body and padded into the bathroom. She sat on the loo and contemplated her next move. The plane was quiet, no evidence that anyone else was aboard. That her room light was off indicated that quite probably Duncan had entered her room at some stage, even more disturbingly, he'd possibly pulled the covers over her after watching her sleep. Shaking her head, she banished such musing to the back of her mind. Her stomach chose to remind her how long it had been since her last meal, so she finished her ablutions, brushed her teeth, ran a brush over her hair before pulling on some clothes. 

She quietly slid her door open and padded down the hallway to the lounge, noting that the rest of the plane appeared to be in darkness. As she hadn't got around to powering down for the night, again Duncan must have done it, the thought of that cold-hearted, merciless man wandering about her plane made her shiver. She automatically glanced down at the floor where Abigail Westbrook had finally breathed her last. It was small consolation to know that particular threat had been eliminated, but they still had no real idea what the woman had planned in the long run. Jamie briefly contemplated torturing Duncan to find out what he knew, but even thinking about inflicting pain on Mitch's body made her feel nauseous. Whatever his personality faults, the man still inhabited an innocent body. Mitch was still in there, sectioned off into some part of his brain, waiting for the time he'd be resurrected back into his world. No longer feeling so emotionally vulnerable, Jamie sipped her coffee and plotted out ways she could establish whether all hope of reversing Mitch's condition could be achieved. It was inconceivable to her that Abigail would only have the one switch, surely she'd have others, maybe in other bases like the one in Copenhagen. Or maybe if they searched her database the design would be there to allow them to replicate it. They knew that the bio-drive had proved unstable in other subjects, the victims 'left choking in their own vomit' – according to the late Shepherd, Gerard Mackaby, but that would pre-suppose that those same subjects also had switching devices, or maybe there was a master control that would consign Duncan back to his box and let Mitch re-emerge into his life, and as a consequence give him back to her. 

There was that damn hope again. Would she ever learn?

She pulled over her tablet and scrolled through the data until she was able to pull up what they'd found out during Mitch's operation to discover what was in his head. Mansdale had hacked into the Shepherds mainframe and pulled up the information about the bio drive, but could she really just trust the word of a former Shepherd? And what the heck were the fake IADG quizzing Mitch about this 'Blue Diaspora', which most people would assume was related to some plant or chemical, when in fact the word diaspora literally meant dispersal, in relation to people and small populations scattered by religion, war or politics to somewhere other than their homelands. How did blue feature into this, was it simply a crazy code or just a way for Abigail to fuck with anyone trying to figure it out? Maybe it was the master plan for the dissemination of the hybrids, the building of the nests in every country and on every continent. That would tie in with the beacons being activated, the signals prompting the creatures to hatch. But what then? What was the ultimate goal?  
So many questions, and possibly the only person who could answer them was Duncan himself. But how to get the information out of him? Flattery would be wasted on him, as would trying to cajole the information out of his humorless grasp. Sex was an option, but could she really employ her knowledge of Mitch to such a use? Her mind slammed the brakes on that way of thinking, prefering to consider a chemical way of drawing out the information, maybe pentothal or something similar.  
“Sodium pentothal. Really? You do realize there's actually no such thing as a truth serum outside of novels and movies?” a familiar dark voice stated.  
Jamie cringed, realizing belatedly that she'd been muttering her thoughts out loud. She turned slowly to face the man with Mitch's face. “It's one of many options I've been considering.”  
“Had you thought of simply asking?” He moved away from her around the end of the bar, searching for a mug then filling it from the coffee pot, taking it black.  
Jamie resisted the urge to roll her eyes and tilted her head, giving her tormentor a thin smile. “Alright. What do you know about Blue Diaspora?”  
“It was the name given to the hybrid creation project. Next question?”  
“Hang on. If Robert Oz and Abigail Westbrook were originally part of the Shepherd organization, why would they be asking about this project? Surely they'd already know what it was?”  
Duncan sipped his coffee before answering. “Robert Oz always had his own agenda, towing the party line when it suited him, but when it came down to the wire, he had his own opinion of how the world should be changed, and that didn't include using hybrids. Abigail was the same. When her father sacrificed himself to save Jackson ten years ago she planned to cut all ties with the Shepherds and gather her own followers around her. With the animal mutations stopped, Pangaea was abandoned shortly after your team left. Abigail took all her research, took the razorback hybrids, took me and continued her work, with my help, most of it a divergence from both her father's dream and the Shepherd's combined.”  
Jamie frowned. “Still doesn't explain why the Shepherds would want what Mitch knew when they actually needed to speak to you. This is all so fucked up. Nobody knew who you were until that photo surfaced.”  
Duncan shrugged. “You got a lucky break. If my bio-drive hadn't been activated by someone messing with it, I'd still be out of the picture and you'd have Mitch around to play with.”  
Jamie stared at him, something he'd said that first time they'd met, when the plane was going down. “You were prepared to die, just because she told you to. When I said the plane was going to crash, you said that was the idea. Why would you kill yourself for her?”  
Duncan stared down at the scarred surface of the bar. “Always you want to know why...what difference does it make? I did it because that's what I'm programmed to do. I don't have free will, I just have a set of commands, instructions that I follow to the letter. I don't weigh up whether it's good or bad, I leave that to bleeding hearts like yourself and this Mitch you care so much about. I just do what I'm told.”  
He slammed the mug down, the liquid inside sloshing out. Jamie jerked in surprise at the noise, her eyes wide.  
“You said something similar to me before, but you're wrong. Abigail is gone, her influence over you is likewise – gone. Every decision you make from this moment on is your responsibility, your choice. How you shape what happens now and in the days to come, is all on you. If I can find a way to reverse that damned bio-drive I will. That body belongs to you both, not just one of you, and I'm going to do whatever it takes, so don't get in my way.”  
She turned to go, her face stormy. As she walked past the end of the bench his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.  
“I can't let you just erase me. The longer I'm in your world, the less I want to leave it.”  
Jamie stared at his hand, then up into his face. “Then we have a problem. I thought I could just mourn for Mitch and move on, but I find I don't want to. I want the man I love to be here with me, not locked away in his own mind. Right now we have a stalemate. It's either him or you. That isn't good enough. Abigail made you out of his mind, out of his personality, there has to be a way to somehow meld them back together so that neither is lost. I don't know how, but I'm going to find a way.” She wrenched her wrist free and left him standing there.

Duncan stared after her. He contemplated his strange conversation with Jamie Campbell. At length, he started to smile. “I'm starting to see what it is you like about her, Mitch.” Still grinning, he shook his head at his own dark humor and used the sink to rinse out his cup. 

Jamie sat in her room and spent the rest of her time, while waiting for daylight to come, working on various ways of achieving either the return of Mitch Morgan or the merging of Mitch and Duncan. With Clem's baby born, and once Abe was up and about, they could work together on the cure for the human sterility issue. They had all the necessary ingredients now, all the hybrid spinal fluid stem cells to effect a cure. With Abigail dead, they could also work on a way to take the beacons down, Jackson's experience probably necessary for that. Dariela was at the IADG, still sleeping the last time she called, but Garrison, the commander of the base had stressed how important transmitting the rest of the dead-man switch information was as soon as possible, so she'd reconnected the laptop and sent off the raw data, this time a complete uninterrupted stream for them to pore over and de-code what they could. There was little that she, Jamie Campbell, could contribute to any of these situations, but there was a great deal she could contribute if she was able to solve the Mitch/Duncan conundrum. Mansdale had opened the door, but she'd need a great deal more, primarily access to Abigail Westbrooks bases. There just had to be either another device or details of the design. The fly in the ointment was Duncan himself. Somehow she had to convince him it was in his best interest to pursue the same goal, of not making it a choice of Mitch or him, but of bringing both together as a whole. That way nothing would be lost, and possibly all the answers anyone ever wanted to gain. But how to convince him?  
He said he was a robot without feelings, and she'd called him that herself. But was that entirely true? Could anyone crafted from the deeply emotional brain of Mitch Morgan truly be that sterile, that unfeeling? She pondered what she knew. He hadn't pushed her away when she broke down and wept after the baby was born. Sure, he had hurt her during the fight, but she was hurting him just as badly, and when she thought about it, it could have been a far worse outcome than just a few bruises. And then there was the business about the bed covers. Did a humorless, emotionally stunted robot bother to pull the covers over their enemy when they're sleeping? Unlikely. So maybe there was more of Mitch in Duncan than he'd like to confess too. Maybe it had nothing to do with the bio-drive, per se, maybe it had everything to do with the effects of hybrid DNA on a person. Jamie made no claims to being a scientist, biologist or any other 'gist, but she listened, she learned and she could assimilate knowledge, combing through the facts to get to the kernel of the story. All those years ago, when they were so worried about the effects of the ghost gene on Jackson, how it had turned Kovac's into a monster, and Jackson's mother into a predator, it was suggested that all the victims had their usual personality suppressed by the hybrid DNA, leaving them functioning on only their basic survival, fight or flight instincts, exacerbated by the extreme aggression displayed by the mutated animals, combined with unusually organised thinking. What if the bio-drive didn't so much switch the two personalities on and off like a light switch, but rather released a chemical into the brain that suppressed the more emotional touchy-feely side of a person's limbic system and left instead the more primitive side, all without affecting their ability to use their higher functions to perform complex thought processes like Duncan creating the beacons? Once the emotional, moral center was taken out of the equation, that left a more suggestible, less argumentative creature depending on the chemical used. It was a theory that had been used to explain why drug addicts under the influence of certain chemical cocktails, had no understanding of action and consequence, and soldiers experimented on to improve their ability to fight, became gun-toting murderers without compassion or pity, all because of the drugs given to them under the guise of giving them greater strength, greater endurance. All of these frequently controversial chemical trials proved that the human brain was capable of turning a mild-mannered pacifist into a raging monster when under the influence. Alcohol had been doing the same thing for decades to varying degrees by loosening up inhibitions in normally staid and moral imbibers. With an evil genius, an expert in DNA and chemical manipulation, it would be a snap to create a specific cocktail to achieve what she wanted. Mansdale had said all the original subjects in the trials went mad and died before the program was shut down thirteen years ago. Maybe there was something extra special about Mitch that allowed him to survive instead. Maybe his exposure to the hybrids when he was attacked made it possible for him to metabolize the drugs so they only suppressed, rather than killed or mutated as in other subjects like Kovacs and Jackson's mom.  
Maybe all she needed to find out was not how to create another device, but a formula, probably two formulas to bring Mitch's brain back into balance and reintegrate him with his alias, Duncan. 

Jamie stared at her copious notes and felt a headache coming on. Did she have a working hypothesis, she didn't know. She did know that some of the answers to her questions were probably in Abigail's base back in Copenhagen. If there was any chance of retrieving the information from the woman's computer hard drives, it was there she would need to start. 

“So that's what I plan to do.”  
She was sitting in Abe's hospital room, Jackson facing her on the other side of the bed. Both men looked at her with different expressions, Abe's one of concern, Jackson frowning heavily.  
“And what does the man himself think about this idea?” Abe asked, wheezing slightly. His chest was heavily bandaged and he was hooked up to a drip, the wound in his back also now stitched and bandaged. He was currently on a course of pain and antibiotic medication.  
Three heads swiveled to bring three pairs of eyes to regard the man standing just inside the doorway.  
Duncan returned their stares evenly. “What can I say? She makes a persuasive argument.”  
Jackson narrowed his eyes. “So you're happy to give up yourself, your existence to allow Mitch to return? That seems counter-intuitive to your behavior to date. Why should any of us believe you?”  
Duncan focused his dark stare on the only woman in the room. “As it has been pointed out to me – I'm not a complete person, I'm just a construct created for a specific purpose but no real life, memories or experiences of my own. As Duncan, I don't exist beyond Abigail's original purpose.” He paused, glancing off to the view beyond the windows for a moment before returning to look at the group around the bed. “I have no identity in your world, no access to resources or facilities beyond those that Abigail supported. On my own I have nothing, am nothing.” He flicked his eyes to meet Jamie's. “She's offered that if we can find out more of why and how this is achieved, a way might be found to integrate both personalities into the one body, or something along those lines.”  
“What about Abigail's agenda with the hybrids? Are you willing to help us take down the beacons? After all, you designed them?” Abe asked.  
Duncan shrugged. “I've agreed to help find the relevant information and make it available once we find the database. I won't hand myself over to the authorities to be interrogated, but I also won't inhibit any investigation into what Abigail was doing. She may be gone, but her organization is still out there. They took the creature, Abendegos back to one of their secure bases outside New York. I know where that is. We can also check out the base here.”  
Jackson stood up, his hands resting on his hips. “How many bases does she have?”  
Duncan shrugged. “At least one on every continent and within each major city. We had a lot of time to sort out the finer details before putting her plans into action.”  
Jamie stood up as well, feeling the undercurrents in the room. “Look. This can only be of benefit to everyone if I can download information directly from the source. We have the schematics of the bio-drive but not the specifics of how it functions or why. Something inside his brain allowed him to live while every other subject implanted with the device died. Maybe Abigail modified the design specifically for Mitch, I don't know, but I want to find out. Along the way, we'll probably find out a ton of other useful stuff we can use to stop the hybrids and help with the cure.”  
Abe was nodding his head slowly. “I think that if anyone can find a way to return Mitch Morgan to us, it is you, Jamie Campbell. In the meantime, we'll need to get the spinal fluid off the plane along with my notes on the bloodwork taken from Clem and her baby. If you go back with them, Jackson, you can collect our belongings as well. Jamie can come back and collect us when her mission is complete or she finds something useful.”  
Jamie looked over at Jackson. He was still staring at Duncan, his expression mulish.  
“Jackson?”  
“Fine. We'll have better access to what we need here in the hospital and on the ground rather than on the plane in any case. Let's go and get the gear, then you can take off.”  
Jamie ignored the double-edged meaning of Jackson's words. Things were still strained between them, his resentment towards her sometimes barely suppressed in their exchanges. Sighing internally she followed him out of the hospital room after wishing Abe to get well soon, Duncan bringing up the rear. 

Onboard the plane once more she helped Jackson gather the samples and download everything they had onto a terabyte hard drive before moving to clear out his and Abe's personal effects, as well as Clem's. She had her own misgivings about the young man who was the father of Clem's child and tried to convey some of this to Jackson, but he was dismissive and she let it drop. 

Duncan had stayed out of the way, sensing that the younger man was poorly disguising a huge chip on his shoulder against himself and Jamie, probably to do with his sister's death. Only when Jackson was packed into a taxi and sent on his way did he see Jamie relax, her tense shoulders slumping as she raised the plane's ramp, shutting out the world. 

“I'll organize to have the plane refueled and resupplied, then we can log a flight plan and head back to Copenhagen,” she told him when they returned to the lounge. He watched her pour herself a stiff drink and knock it back as if it was water.  
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked, surprising her.  
“Finish what you started yesterday with the cleanup. The sooner we make this place livable the better for those of us that have to live here.” Setting her glass down, she stood for a moment leaning on the bar, then without saying another word reeled away down the corridor to her room, the door sliding shut behind her. 

Jamie ordered what she needed for the plane online, checking her finances at the same time. For the time being the financial markets were holding their own, but she wouldn't be surprised if things started to get a bit tight from now on. She heard the tanker roll up to the plane and start pumping av-gas into the wings, and a while later she heard the banging on one of the hatches when the groceries and other supplies she'd ordered arrived. She left it to Duncan to sort all that out, let him earn his keep and let her have some peace. Filing the flight plan took only minutes, the intended route taking in not only Copenhagen but also a trip to eastern Siberia, Yakutsk to be exact, to investigate what was left behind when they found Mitch. After that is would be back to the New York site that Duncan had mentioned, where they tested the children with the Melvatox-B. With the three sites searched and stripped of anything helpful, they'd return to Seoul to meet up with the team and share what intelligence they'd found.

Depending on circumstances and weather conditions, the round trip from Korea, to Copenhagen, then to Russia before going to the States and finally back to Korea would take the best part of a week, give or take. When it was put into days and hours, she wondered at the sense of being alone with a man who had tried to shoot her point blank only a couple of days ago. But then, on the scale of insanity the team usually worked under, her mission was pretty mundane. Her electronic paperwork completed, she dropped the tablet on the bed and got up to stretch. A twinge in her side, just below her ribs reminded her of a particularly colorful bruise that would be spectacular in a day or two's time when it started to blossom. Feeling in need of a break, she left her room and ambled to the lounge. A decorative bowl full of fruit greeted her and she happily picked an apple and bit into it. Duncan made for an efficient staff, the room fully cleared of debris, the carpet looking as if it had even been vacuumed. Eyebrows raised, she munched on the apple and decided to investigate the downstairs. She found that just as tidy, the heaps of rubbish cleared away, the floor gleaming as if it had been washed. Here was more evidence of her purchases, another bowl of nibbles placed beside keyboards for anyone who might get hungry but not want to leave their work. She proceeded through to the rear of the plane, the ramp already down and the four-wheel drive sitting at the bottom. As she stood there Duncan appeared from behind the vehicle, a hose in his hand as he sprayed the dirt and dust from the wheels and sides, windscreen and roof of the truck. Out of sight, a small tanker was providing the water. Jamie watched from the edge of the walkway at the back, sitting down on the ledge, her legs swinging as she finished off her apple. If Duncan noticed his audience he didn't acknowledge it. With the truck no longer buried under a layer of crud, he carried the hose back to the tanker before returning to hop into the driver's seat and reverse the car up the ramp and back into position ready for the next trip out. It was all so amusingly domestic that she couldn't wipe the grin off her face when Duncan got out of the truck and toggled the ramp to close.

“Something amusing you?” he asked in a monotone, standing below where she sat, his sleeves rolled up and hands resting on his hips. His expression was as blank as it usually was, but she thought she detected a flash of something in his eyes that hadn't been there before.  
“Not at all. I love watching other people work. Could do it all day, given half a chance.”  
He didn't respond, just tramped up the metal stairs and left her sitting there, still grinning to herself.  
Picking herself up, she carried her apple core back to the kitchen and dropped it in the trash compactor. Duncan was making himself something to eat and she watched him, sitting on one of the bar stools, her arms resting on the bar itself.  
“The place looks great, you did a good job tidying up.”  
He ignored her and bit into his overstuffed sandwich. Jamie cast a glance over the various shelves, noting the replacement bottles filling the gaps that had been there before.  
“Thank you for putting the groceries away. It's been awhile since I had time to organize a proper shop.” Still, she got no response, Duncan finishing off his meal and picking up a bottle of water to chug down, Jamie watching his throat work as he swallowed. Unperturbed by his lack of communication, she hopped off the stool and went over to the wall console, tapping instruction into it, the plane immediately starting to vibrate as the engine slowly started up.  
“We'll be lifting off once the plane gets the clearance codes from the control tower. I would suggest you strap in.” Walking over to one of the seats up against the outside wall, Jamie sat down and pulled over the seat belt to clip it across her lap.  
Hesitating only a moment, Duncan followed her over and sat next to her, pulling out the concealed safety webbing and securing it across his lap, just as she'd done. Sitting side by side in total silence, they saw the buildings outside move past the windows as the plane taxied out of the bay and onto a side road to reach the end of the runway in preparation for taking off. Duncan still had his bottle of water and tilted his head back to down the last mouthful.  
Jamie drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Take off was never her favorite experience. She gripped the side arms, her nails digging into the soft leather as the plane started to gather speed, bumping over the uneven surface as it rolled faster and faster, the engines screaming while the nose lifted, the sudden drop as the plane left the grip of the concrete and the force of the climb pressed her back into the cushions. She hadn't realized she'd been clenching her fist until a warm hand closed over hers, wrapping around the white knuckles.  
“You can relax, we are airborne,” the gruff voice informed her.  
Jamie let out the breath she'd been holding and forcibly worked to relax her shoulders. She opened her eyes at the same instant the hand left her. “Ever since the crash, I've not been the best of passengers,” she blurted out. Duncan turned to look at her, his eyes raking over her face.  
“And yet you own a plane?” he drawled.  
“It seemed the logical thing to do at the time,” Jamie explained.  
“Or extraordinarily brave for someone who fears flying.”  
She stared at him until he looked away, undoing his belt and getting to his feet.  
“We'll be in the air for at least twelve hours before we land at Kastrup airport,” she called after him.  
He paused and looked back at her. “Then I'll have plenty of time to catch up on my sleep.”

Jamie had no idea what time it was when she awoke, her sleep patterns all out of whack with the traveling and different local times. She had stayed up late checking over the armory, making sure that the guns were clean and ready, harnesses, flack jackets, and kevlar vests ready for use and her favorite backpack loaded with the usual essentials. She didn't see Duncan again before she sought her own bed, falling asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. She thought she dreamed, but couldn't recall what the dreams were about when she opened her eyes. 

Checking the flight data, she saw they had another couple of hours before they'd be landing at Copenhagen, so she fixed herself something for breakfast and switched on the large screen tv to try and tune into a local channel, or something on satellite. Using the remote she manually scanned the airwaves, eventually finding a couple of channels, including CNN. Not having seen the news in days, if not weeks, she was keen to hear the latest. 

Duncan rolled onto his back, hearing the sound of voices coming from further down the corridor. This time it was not just the one voice calling out a name, his alter-egos name over and over. He had initially resisted responding the cry, his finger bunching in the sheets to stop him rising to investigate. Lying in the dark he'd thought it was over, his fingers releasing their death grip on the bed, but then she cried out again and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, cursing under his breath. Wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, he padded out of his room and down to hers, the half-light from the hallway showing her curled on her side, her back to the door. He stood in the doorway, listening, his eyes adjusting to the low light. His patience was rewarded when the sleeper in the bed jerked and shifted under her sheet, her voice an indistinguishable mumble at first, then as clear as crystal she called out his name again, at the same time throwing out an arm and kicking off the covers to lay on her back.  
He walked to the edge of the bed and stared down at the tormented dreamer, her face now turned to the light coming from the doorway, the clear tracks of tears visible on her cheeks. Without a sound he collected the discarded bedding and carefully relaid it on the bed, covering her up to the waist and retucking it under the mattress. Throughout it all the sleeper never awoke, her dream apparently moving on, leaving her behind to move restlessly until she was back on her side and enabling him to move the covers up to her shoulders.  
With nothing more he could do for her, he left and returned to his own bed, sleep taking a long time to drag him under, his mind running along paths he'd never considered before. 

Now voices dragged him from sleep again and he lay listening to the drone of reporters rising and falling in regular patterns. Pushing his glasses onto his face he rolled out of bed and snagged the plaid dressing gown off the back of the door, wrapping it tightly around him before stepping out barefoot into the corridor and making his way to the lounge. Jamie was curled up in a chair with her feet tucked up, a rug over her legs and a bowl of something in her hands. She looked at him for a moment with her eyes wide, a spoon frozen halfway to her mouth.  
“I'm sorry, did I wake you?” she asked, placing the spoon back in the bowl and reaching for the remote.  
“Not really.” He raked a hand through his disordered hair before finding himself a mug and filling it from the coffee pot. “Anything interesting we should know about?”  
Jamie slid her eyes away from drinking in his comfortably domestic appearance, sharply reminding herself that this was not Mitch, it was Duncan. “Yeah. We've been kinda wrapped up in our own troubles, so world news has had to carry on regardless.”  
Duncan sipped from his mug and walked in front of her to the chair next door, a small occasional table between them. The scent of bed warmed Mitch overlaid with the faint laundry powder smell of his dressing gown almost overwhelmed her, but she gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on what was playing out on the screen.  
“President Murphy is finding it difficult to get many bills passed with the current crisis taking center stage. There's been another volcanic eruption in South America - Chile this time, and rioting in the UK over shortages.”  
Duncan put his head back and stretched out his legs, bare feet crossed at the ankles. “So, nothing new to report.”  
Jamie glanced over to try and read his expression, not sure from the tone of his voice if he was being sarcastic or making a joke. The light reflected off his glasses so she could see nothing, her huff of annoyance making the corner of his mouth twitch after she'd turned away from him.  
They watched the rest of the news reports in silence, Jamie uncomfortably aware of the man sitting in the next chair over, his legs and feet sticking out from the end of his dressing gown proving a distraction she could do without. She was also very aware that she was not overly dressed for a morning confrontation. She picked up the remote and placed it on the table between them.  
“We'll be wheels down in a little over an hour, so I'll let you know when we need to strap in for the landing.” Pushing the blanket to one side she unwound herself from the chair and picked up her bowl to take it to the kitchenette sink. 

Behind her back, Duncan watched appreciatively as she padded equally barefoot as he, over to the kitchen bench, her sleeping attire along the same lines as his own – shorts and t-shirt, except hers was a singlet with no bra beneath, and shorts that were obviously worn commando. Jamie Campbell was a shapely thing, slighter than Abigail and shorter, but he was well aware that appearances could be entirely deceptive. He could see the deep purple marks from their fight, on her arms and legs, starting to spread and change color. In a day or two, she'd be covered in a rainbow of bruising.  
His wandering gaze moved from the injuries to the curve of her back and the sublime slope of her shoulders when she stood at the sink, the side view glimpse of her breast when she turned to snag a cloth to dry the dishes with. Eventually he had to fake an interest in the news when she turned to face him, his peripheral vision noting the swell of unfettered breasts under the thin singlet with just a hint of a pert nipple, the soft curl of hair around her ears, the enticing swing of her hips when she rounded the bench to leave the room. Once her head was turned away he switched his gaze to her bottom, the neat mounds shifting under the fabric just the right size to fill his hands. 

Once she was out of sight he blinked, slowly. What in all the fucking hell was that? Looking down his own body he noticed that somebody was super keen to come out and play, creating an impressive tent in his shorts. In all the times he'd could remember being conscious in the world, not once had he ever had this reaction to anybody or anything. He could feel his face flushing, feel his palms getting clammy and his heart racing. Nothing in his experience could explain this extraordinary reaction to a woman washing up her breakfast dishes and walking out of the room. He was almost ready to swear under oath that it had all taken place in slow motion as well, something so illogical he felt like slapping himself to get a grip.  
This wasn't like him, not Mister logical-cold-robotic-killer Duncan, the ghost in the machine, scourge of the IADG, loyal servant to Abigail Westbrook, creator of death and destruction.  
This was bloody Mitch Morgan seeping into his subconscious, corrupting his programming, subverting his cool demeanor with unadulterated lust for a diminutive red-head.  
Disgusted with himself, Duncan gulped down the last of his now cold coffee and stomped into the kitchen, running the cold tap and splashing some of it on his face after he'd dealt with the crockery.  
His body was still unhelpfully stiff, his brain unable to think of anything sufficiently quelling that could wipe out the rear view of that bottom moving, hips swinging and bare feet slapping the floor replaying over and over in his mind's eye.  
Pulling the cord of the dressing gown tighter he marched down the hall to his own room and wrenched the sliding door open, so fast it bounced off the rubber stops and almost shut itself behind him. Shedding his clothes to drop on the floor he entered the shower and turned the water on full, his traitorous body finally starting to come back under his control under the onslaught of chilly water sluicing down his skin. Only when he started to shiver did he turn the dial around to something approaching warm, his lips moving under the torrent of water as he repeated a mantra to himself. “Fuck off Mitch Morgan, I'm not ready to go, fuck off and leave me alone.” Even after shutting off the water and toweling himself off he kept muttering to his rival to fuck off and not come back. While he was still only half dressed, Jamie knocked on his door. He clamped his lips closed on his litany of threats against Mitch Morgan and walked over to the sliding door.  
“I'm going to go load up the truck before we land. Can you be ready in five?” she called through the panel.  
He pulled the door open, making her jump back in surprise. “Of course.”  
She eyed him warily then nodded. “Fine. I'll see you back in the lounge to buckle up.”  
“In the lounge. Right,” He replied but she was already gone, on her way to the vehicle bay.

Holding his black jacket over his arm, he walked back to the lounge area then through to the balcony that ran around the central area above the lap. He saw a couple of seats against the outside wall, similar to the ones in the lounge and decided he'd wait for her there instead. He was doing up the buckle when she appeared, walking towards him as the plane started its descent to Copenhagen. When they passed through the cloud layer on approach, the plane hit turbulence and they were bounced around, Jamie losing her footing as she neared her seat, the jolting sending her into Duncan, his arms automatically wrapping around her to hold her snug in his lap while the cabin shook and shimmied. In his hurry to prevent her being thrown about his hands were unfortunately placed, his right splayed across her abdomen, almost between her legs, the other spread across her chest, inconveniently cupping her right breast. Certainly, it meant she was immobilized and safe, but it also meant she was now pink with embarrassment and his wayward body was once more responding in a way that she'd have to be unconscious not to notice, considering it was right under her bottom.  
When the plane finally leveled out and stopped behaving like a bucking bronco, they stayed as they were, Jamie sitting on his lap, her jean-clad legs braced either side of his, his hands not moving from their intimate positions. Her left hand was gripping the arm of the chair, while her right was clutching his forearm, his fingers flat against her abdomen, his fourth and little finger curled over her pubic bone along the seam of her jeans.  
“Um...you can let go now,” she muttered, painfully aware of what was underneath her.  
As if only now realizing that his hands were holding her in a manner not entirely appropriate, Duncan drew his hands back in a slow caress until they reached either side of her waist, then she found herself catapulted off his lap onto her own feet, her back to him.  
Feeling a definite weakness in the knees, she turned and almost threw herself into the seat next to him, her fingers scrabbling to get the belt around her middle. She knew her face was the color of a tomato but she refused to apologize for, or acknowledge what had just happened.  
Duncan stared straight ahead, willing his body to subside, heat blooming on his own cheeks despite his carefully blanked expression. An apology never even surfaced among his thoughts.  
The plane made its final approach with little more than a mild jostle for its passengers, the touch down accomplished in textbook style.  
While the plane was still taxiing to the designated bay, Jamie was free of her seat belt and out of her chair, leaving Duncan to watch her hasty departure, once more admiring the view while cursing himself under his breath at the same time. 

Jamie would never know how she was able to face the wretched man, but she did, the pair of them climbing aboard the truck to leave the plane, using the remote to close and lock down the rear access behind them.  
Abigail's base was about an hour away from the airport, Jamie stopping briefly at the airport security office to sign off on the paperwork for customs before they were allowed to leave. Previously, their way had been cleared by the IADG, this time she was a private citizen, hence the need for paperwork. Even when the world was about to end, there was always another form to fill in. 

Duncan took the lead once they arrived outside the complex of old factory buildings. Nothing looked disturbed, but Jamie kept her hand on her gun and the flashlight steady as they walked down the long approach corridor.  
When they went through a swing door things started to look more familiar. Previously, Jamie and Max, along with the former Shepherd, Gerard Mackaby, had entered through a side door, coming upon Sam Parker first, rather than via the front door, as they had this time.  
Duncan pushed through another set of swing door and led her down a dark passageway.  
“Here's where we kept Jackson. Abigail wanted his brainwave patterns, specifically the one that influenced the animals.”  
“Wait! Are you saying the Jackson can talk to animals?”  
“Not exactly, but he can communicate with them, make them do things – attack, run away, stop - that sort of stuff.”  
“He's never mentioned he could do that,” said Jamie, peering into the room, her torch finding the darkened patch on the floor where Abigail had thrown deer's blood over Jackson. She saw the unlocked cage and held her light on it. “What used to be in there?”  
“A tiger.”  
Her torch swung around and hit him full in the face, blinding him. “Is it still here?”  
“Get that light out of my eyes, and no. Like the bodies, it would have been removed by the authorities, I imagine.”  
“Bodies?” Jamie swung the torch around the room as if expecting to see a pile of them.  
“One body. The Shepherd you brought with you. I believe Abigail shot him when he attacked Jackson Oz.”  
“Yeah. We told the local police they'd find him here.”  
He walked on, turning a corner, Jamie close behind him.  
“Here is the main operations room.” He stared, frowning at the destroyed console and blank screens. “Looks like someone shot the place up.”  
“Probably Mackaby.” Jamie shone her torch around the room. She spotted a power box and went over to it. “Let's get some light on the scene.” Pushing up the master switch, she turned to watch as the lights and machinery sprung into life around them. Some of the computer screens were still active, others remained dark.  
“What is all this?” Jamie waved at the consoles.  
Duncan peered at the screens, his face scrunched up. “Shows the maturation of the nests of hybrids around the world and the sequence of activation of the beacons.”  
“That's great, Dariela and the IADG could sure use that information.” She set her backpack down on one of the ruined consoles and rummaged in the bag. Pulling out a portable hard drive, she searched for a USB port to plug it in. Duncan found an office chair on wheels and sat down. Jamie looked over her shoulder, then turned to face him.  
“Aren't you going to help?”  
Duncan shook his head. “Nope.  
Jamie stared at him for a moment, then continued her search for a master hub or mainframe. She followed the wiring to a junction box that fed into the next room. Following that, she reached a room full of metal shelving, plastic storage boxes, and more monitors. One of the screens showed an image that looked a lot like the bio drive, a green sign below it announcing that the device was fully synced and operational. She clicked on the image and it minimised, revealing more about what the bio-drive monitored, including Duncan's vital signs, provided a location finder and several other functions that were not so clear about what they did. Again she looked for a USB hub or some way of downloading the information.  
“Dammit, Abigail you bitch.” She pulled her tablet out of her backpack and started to take images of the screens. “We'll do this the old-fashioned way!” Jamie muttered, using the mouse to bring up more screens all of which she documented onto her tablet. Having exhausted the information on that particular screen, she traced the wiring further and found it terminated at an in-house encrypted server.  
“Fuck. That's not good.” She hurried back to the main room, Duncan still sitting on the office chair, his legs crossed at the knee and arms folded across his chest. Jamie sent him a scowling glance then went over to the screens still displaying their information. She took images of all of them plus the consoles in front of them.  
“I need to find where this information is coming from because it's not here. This is just a remote station with an encrypted server and locked files that I can't access,” Jamie explained.  
“Sucks to be you,” Duncan retorted, giving her a closed mouth smile that hinted at smugness.  
Jamie glared at him. “Is there anything else here that I should see? If not, I'm going to search each room thoroughly to see if there's another device.”  
“Need my help?” he asked, not surprised at the response.  
“No. I can't trust that you'd not simply destroy it if you found it.”  
“Fine. I'll just stay here then.”  
Jamie felt like childishly sticking her tongue out at him, he infuriated her so. Preferring to maintain a cool demeanor, she packed her tablet away and hoisted the backpack onto her shoulders. A quick survey of the room revealed no locked drawers or anything like a safe to keep important stuff in, so she moved on, systematically searching every nook and cranny until she arrived back at the start.  
Duncan looked thoroughly bored and quickly stood up. “Can we go now?”  
Jamie flicked a quick glance around the room and sighed. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “This is where we found Sam Parker, yet when Abe used Sam's blood to infuse the baby Clem had a violent reaction to it. If it had just been his blood, there shouldn't have been any reaction, other than positive, which leads me to wonder if you and the witch didn't do something to jeopardize that infusion.” She was watching him closely and saw his eyes flicker, glancing over at the far wall for a split second before returning to their usual blank stare. Jamie followed where that glance had zeroed in on and walked to the wall. Another office chair sat there, near a darkened bank of screens. In the shadows, a metal pole stood with an empty infusion bag hanging from the hook and a line leading from that to a needle on the ground beneath the chair. She crouched down and lifted the needle end, careful not to let the needle touch her skin. There was dried blood on the needle but it didn't look like it had been there long, the infusion bag had a small line of red fluid sitting at the bottom. Unhooking the bag, Jamie wrapped the line around it, careful to secure the needle and bundled it all up into her backpack. Duncan no longer looked bored, his eyes narrowed as he watched her collect the evidence.  
“We can go now,” Jamie announced, looking just a little smug. She waited for Duncan to flip the power junction switch, plunging them into darkness once more, then turned to leave, her torch beam sweeping over the walls and floor. 

Back on the plane once more, Jamie hurried to power up the lab PC. She wanted to get the information she gathered to the IADG and Dariela, as well as contact Abe about the liquid in the infusion bag. If it contained something that had potentially harmed the child they needed to know about it yesterday. Duncan had followed more slowly, his thoughts in turmoil. On one hand he was pleased that Jamie hadn't found another device to zap him back to Mitch Morgan, but alternatively he was cross with himself for betraying the infusion they'd given Sam, and in turn, the baby Clem had carried. Even he wasn't entirely sure what Abigail had given the young man, having no reason to doubt her words to Sam that it would help the baby and undo what the others had done already. Of course, he now realized despite his slavish servitude to Abigail, that the team had done nothing other than the best for the girl and her unborn child, and that the lies Abigail had fed Sam had given a completely false impression of the group's motives and objectives. In fact, everything that Abigail had created and done had been in direct opposition to the team, primarily against her own brother.  
Not that it changed his situation any, but it did appear to concern him just a little that he had done and was still doing, and acting, in a way that was ensuring that the team, and particularly Jamie Campbell, had to work twice as hard to make any headway. Why he even felt this sudden concern made him curse himself uphill and down at the apparently constant infiltration of Mitch Morgan into his, Charles Duncan's reality.


	3. Button Pushing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan fights a losing battle, Jamie has a reason to smile a lot.

Jamie avoided any contact with Duncan for the remainder of the day, keeping herself busy organizing the flight to Yakutsk in Russia, gaining clearance and filing the paperwork necessary to fly over Russian airspace. Fortunately, the teams good standing with a certain Russian minister went a long way to ease their passage through the web of officialdom. At least this time they were going to be there officially, not like the first time when it was more of a black-ops operation with them flying in and out undetected for the most part, while still running the risk of having Mig's sent up after them before they could leave Russian airspace. This time they would have all the necessary permits and visas needed to avoid lots of uniforms and guns being pointed at them. The last time they'd landed right next to the abandoned research building, this time they would land in Yakutsk, at the Mezhdunarodnyy Aeroport and take the truck from there. It would take the best part of ten hours flight time depending on the weather. Usually, the commercial flights stopped over in Moscow, with a substantial wait until flying on to the Yakutsk, sometimes needing to allow twenty-four hours door to door, by going private they shortened the travel time by half but needed more paperwork, digital and physical to be completed. She didn't expect them to spend more than a day in Yakutsk, intending to do a thorough search, then push on to New York as the final leg. 

Jamie informed Duncan over the intercom to strap in a moment before take off, not wanting him to be anywhere near her after the last fiasco. Without a witness, she gave in to her need to grip the leather arms of her seat until her knuckles were bone white, her teeth biting down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Once in the air she quickly released herself and went back to her computer, making the most of the uplink over Denmark before it was lost.

“How are Clem and the baby?”  
Abe's face split into a broad smile, his eyes twinkling. “The baby is adorable and very healthy. No problems detected so far, but I appreciate you getting a sample of that infusion they gave Sam, it might shed some light on why Sam's blood proved so toxic. Not exactly a surprise that Abigail tried to sabotage that as well, the woman was evil to the core.”  
“Give my love to Clem, when you see her next. I look forward to having another hold of...he needs a name, have they decided yet?” Jamie asked. Abe shook his head.   
“Not yet, despite our nagging.” Abe looked off-screen for a moment, then back to face her. “Sorry, I have to go. Good luck in Siberia, wrap up warm.”  
“Will do. Goodbye, Abe...get well soon.” The familiar beep of the skype shutting off sounded, Jamie closing the laptop. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bench top and covered her face with her hands, tired and a little depressed over her lack of success so far. She'd sent off all the pictures of what she'd found at the Copenhagen base both to the IADG and to Abe and Jackson, hoping they might make something more of it than she could. Admittedly, tech was not her strong point. Certainly she liked to collect all manner of doohickies and thingamabobs and used them whenever possible, but actually designing or creating new tech was beyond her skill set, more usually the province of the guys, Mitch in particular. She was more comfortable around computers for sure, but she wasn't the one designing the programs, she just used them. Hacking she gave over to the professionals, or more usually the non-professionals-via-illegal-channels hackers, who liked nothing better than an assignment to dig up dirt on government agencies and anything smelling of secret or hidden from public awareness. Money was the only god they worshipped and she used hers very productively. Her journalistic background certainly helped her sniff out anything available within the public sector but for the rest, she relied on her sources.

“Something happened?” His voice intruded on her thoughts and a flash of irritation made her jerk around.   
“Do you have to creep about like a thief?” She stood up to face him, his eyebrow rising at her tone.  
“I wasn't creeping, you just weren't paying attention.” His laconic monotone just infuriated her further.  
“You are such a prick...and that's another thing. Keep your bloody hands to yourself!”  
“Stop throwing yourself at me. I'm not your precious man-toy, Mitch Morgan.”  
“At least he's more man than you could ever be!” Jamie shot back.  
“But he's not here, I am, and the rate you're going he's never coming back.”  
Jamie stared at him aghast. “How dare you?!”  
Duncan shrugged. “I dare because I'm right. You're like a child blundering around hoping that something will drop into your lap. I'm guessing that if Mitch hadn't been there to put all the pieces together, the cure for the mutation would never have happened and you'd all be sitting around wringing your hands still, blaming Reiden for everything, as usual.”  
“You bastard,” Jamie hissed, her hand swinging up to deliver a slap, her wrist caught and held and twisted behind her back, bringing her flush up against him, her free hand trapped between them.  
“Such an emotional creature,” he growled. “Abigail should have bested you easily.”  
Jamie struggled to free herself, her movements limited because he'd backed her up against the table, trapping her legs. “Too bad she didn't consider I'm a better shot!”  
He twisted her arm and she arched against him to relieve the pain, unavoidably leaving little space between their bodies, his reaction to being so close to her very evident. Jamie bared her teeth.  
“It would seem that Charles Duncan is being more than a little emotional right now,” she smirked, pressing herself hard against him. “Maybe Mitch isn't so far away after all.”  
Duncan snarled, twisting her arm so hard she gasped.  
In that second something snapped inside him and he covered her mouth with his own, all of his confusion, frustration, and anger meeting the heat, grief, and fury of the woman pressed so close he could feel the hard points of her nipples against his chest, inflaming him further. He drank her in, his hand no longer twisting her arm to inflict pain, but to hold her against him, his free hand cradling the back of her head to angle her better, the kiss devouring them both. Jamie melted against him, her trapped hand finding its way around his neck, drawing him down, her fingers threading through his hair. All her rage was pouring out of her, finding a release from the building sexual tension between them, her body a living flame that was trying to imprint itself, sear itself upon his skin. She found her arm free of his grip, his hand instead sliding down her back to cup her bottom, moving her against him, his erection hard against her belly. 

As explosively as it had started it was suddenly over, Duncan snatching his hands away from her head and body as if shocked by electricity, his fingers coming up to prise hers away from his head so he could back away, his eyes, dark and tumultuous, cleaving to hers until he turned and left her, gone in an instant.

She couldn't seem to catch her breath, blindly she found the computer chair and pulled it over to sit down heavily, her knees unable to support her. Whatever she'd expected from her goading, what had happened had not been it. Whatever excuse could be found to explain what happened, she was sure of one thing, Mitch was fighting to get back to her, to get back to himself. Duncan couldn't ignore what had just happened, it was proof that his programming was weakening, that Mitch was there, just below the surface, just out of reach, but he was there. Her body's reaction to Duncan told her that – she was so hot for him, her breast heavy and tender, her nipples hard and aching, moisture pooling between her legs even as her heart started to slow and her fingertips soothed over her swollen lips. He even tasted like Mitch. For fuck's sake, she was so gone for that man. 

If this episode was anything to go by, they might not need to worry about finding a replacement bio- drive device, Duncan's physical reaction to her proof enough that nothing was as it was. His slavish servitude was crumbling, the walls separating him from Mitch melting in the heat of their physical attraction, something Duncan hadn't counted on and had no defense against. 

She, Jamie Campbell, was his Kryptonite. It made her giggle to herself. Standing up, she shut down the computer and switched off the screens. There were still a number of hours before they landed at Yakutsk, she might as well try and get some shuteye.

Duncan stood under the cold water long enough for his lungs, heart, and cock to subside back to normal. One thing the shower couldn't do was eliminate the taste of Jamie Campbell from his mouth. Drying himself off briskly, he resolved to avoid the woman completely. He simply could no longer trust himself around her. She was fucking everything up, throwing him off balance and putting ideas in his head that had never been there before. Chucking the damp towel into the corner of the bathroom he contemplated his reflection, noting the thick, ropey scars marring his body from head to toe, the less than athletic physique, the unruly hair that seemed to refuse to be tamed along with the whiskers from hell that almost always bordered on a beard unless shaved every few hours.  
“Damn you, Mitch. Damn you to hell.” He'd never really spent any time looking at himself before now, his bathroom routine not usually needing a self-examination of body and mind. He ate, he dressed, he drank coffee, he did what Abigail wanted him to do. It was a perfect arrangement with nothing messy or disorganized, nothing emotional about any of it. He certainly never entertained any thoughts about Abigail like the ones he'd been thinking the past few days, made worse now that he and Jamie were alone together and recent incidents.  
“Dammit, I won't let you destroy me, Mitch Morgan.” He glared at himself, the image slightly out of focus without his glasses. Defeated, he leaned on the sink and dropped his head down, closing his eyes. Almost at once, his other sense leaped into prominence, his lips remembering her taste, his chest still feeling the hard points of her breasts demanding attention, her filling his hands with her pliant flesh...he opened his eyes to be faced with his body once more standing to attention and insisting on satisfaction. Grabbing his glasses he walked out of the bathroom, naked, and threw himself on the bed, muttering threats against himself while his mind recalled how she felt grinding against him while his hands had found their own delights, his hand in the present wrapped around and squeezed his cock to bring some relief. His muttering turned to moaning, his hand moving up and down, his thigh flexing as he brought images to mind of Jamie in different stages of undressed, images floating into his mind that he knew were not his, of her under him, of him doing things to her body that made him groan as his temperature rose and his heart started to drum. Eventually, his mind supplied the one sensation he knew emphatically wasn't his, the feeling of sinking himself into her body, the heat and wet grip sending him over the edge, his body coming all over his hands and thighs, muscles jerking in release.

Out in the hallway, Jamie had to clap her hands over her mouth, her body sliding down the wall into a crouch, the man in the room unaware of how loud he'd been or how thin the walls really were. He also didn't realize he'd said her name just before cumming. Hearing a man say your name while he was jerking off, obviously thinking of you, was quite possibly one of the most erotic things she had ever experienced. Better would be if she was the one physically making him lose all control, but that was a whole different ball of trouble. Getting to her feet she carried on to her room, feeling the need for a little relief herself. 

Jamie awoke to the sound of an alarm sounding nearby. She sat up and grabbed the tablet that controlled the plane, red flags flashing up at her in the semi-dark. Her door slid open and Duncan stood there, wearing just shorts, bracing himself on the frame as the plane shimmied and bucked in turbulence.   
“What's the alarm for?” he shouted above the whistling of air and roar of engines.   
“We've run into a blizzard, the plane is looking for somewhere to land!” She had to brace herself with one hand on the headboard when the plane shuddered, then lurched. The bedcovers had fallen away, revealing that she had been sleeping nude. Uncaring of her naked state, her fingers danced over the tablet, the man in the doorway not moving but drinking in the revelation before him, no part of her hidden from his gaze, from her tousled hair to the trimmed thatch between her legs.   
“We need to get dressed and strap in, this could be a hard landing,” she shouted at him, lurching off the bed to stagger over to her clothes and start pulling them on.   
He watched her for a few seconds more before leaving her doorway to return to his room and grab something to wear. 

They both left their rooms at the same time, staggering to stay upright as the plane fought the weather. Jamie lost her footing but Duncan managed to grab her arm and help her back onto her feet, the pair of them making it to the lounge and the seats waiting for them. Jamie still had the tablet and as soon as she'd buckled the safety strap in place she was tapping away on it, looking narrowed eyed at the readouts. Duncan, wisely, let her work, his gaze on her face, reading the severity of their situation from the intensity of her expression. It was dark beyond the windows, with nothing to tell them if they were about to crash into a mountain or the sea. The lights were also playing up, plunging them into darkness only to flicker on a second later. He gritted his teeth and marveled that the woman beside him was remaining so cool in the face of potential disaster, making it all the more miraculous knowing her fear of planes should make this her worst nightmare and turn her into a gibbering wreck. Instead, she was entirely focused on the controller, her fingers meeting and solving each crisis as it arose, the sensation of dropping announcing they were coming in to land, the bump of the tires hitting a flat surface the biggest relief for them both. With the engines no longer screaming to maintain speed and height they could once more talk normally.   
“Where are we?” Duncan asked, undoing his belt buckle but not getting up right away.  
“Not Yakutsk, that's for sure.” She moved a few more windows around on the tablet, bringing up the navigation screen. “We appear to have landed an hour or so short of our destination.” She let out a short laugh. “At the one airport, you don't want to overshoot on the landing.” She tilted the tablet screen to show him a daytime image of the airport runway. At the end was a huge hole in the ground, apparently measuring up to one and a half kilometers wide, created through open-pit diamond mining in the past.   
Snow still obscured any details outside, the plane rolling to a stop in whatever designated area the control tower had assigned them. “Welcome to Mirny airport.”

Jamie got on the radio to the control tower, barely understanding the heavily accented English in answer to her queries. They were parked in an area some walking distance to the terminal, so it was deemed prudent for them to sit out the storm inside the plane rather than attempt to leave. With the batteries fully charged and with sensible economy of power use, they could stay inside the plane quite comfortably despite the outside temperature of minus twenty-nine degrees Celsius, not including the wind-chill factor. With that in mind, Jamie went and redressed, changing into thermals and wearing her most insulated jacket. Siberia would never be her choice of destination any time of the year, but since her experience in Brunswick, where she lost her toe, she had made sure to have almost arctic conditions clothing at her disposal. If she could possibly avoid it, she never wanted to be cold ever again. Bundled up to her level of comfort, she went to the kitchen to make herself a meal. Duncan was already there, habitual coffee at his elbow, something savory in a bowl held up to his mouth.  
“We do have spoons and other cutlery to eat with,” she observed, not looking at him but feeling the urge to snipe. Duncan ignored her and downed the last of the broth before deliberately wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.  
“But as you are so fond of pointing out, I'm only half a man, so that must mean I'm only half civilized and I choose to eat my stew without the benefit of your cutlery.”  
Jamie continued to put together something for herself, filling a mug with lemon tea before carrying it over to a chair and sitting down. This time she was opposite him, not alongside, the better for her to watch him or ignore him as the mood took her.  
She was nearly done eating when he spoke up.  
“We need to talk.”  
She had been sipping her tea and lowered the mug to regard him steadily. “About?”  
One of his eyebrows rose above the line of his glasses, such a typical Mitch expression she had to smile. He glared back at her.   
“I don't find this...” He gestured between the pair of them. “...anything to be amused about.”  
Jamie lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I don't have a problem with it.”  
That caught him by surprise. He'd expected her to get angry again, to spit back at him and tell him to fuck off, but instead, she seemed to be playing another game, one he was unsure of the rules. He decided to attack, usually the best tactic.  
“You don't have a problem with any of this, so if I was to tell you that I want to fuck you seven ways to Sunday, you wouldn't have a problem with that?”  
Jamie sipped her tea as if pondering her answer. “So sex is on the table? What happened to all that claptrap about you not being emotional or having any morals or somesuch? If you wanted to fuck me, what's stopping you? It's not like you have feelings for me.”  
He looked at her, a crease pulling his brows together. “For fuck's sake, you're telling me to rape you!?”  
Jamie shook her head. “Mitch would never rape me, and I think you're starting to become more Mitch than Duncan. All your cold, calculating robotic calm has been blown to hell. I think Mitch's memories are starting to intrude, you don't even sound like your old self anymore.” She put her mug down and leaned forward. “Have some of those memories been of me? Do you see yourself making love to me?” She rubbed her hands back and forth along the top of her leggings. “You kiss like Mitch, and I'd have put money on you never having touched a woman before, let alone kiss her, or fuck her.” She sat back and crossed her legs at the knee. “Did you ever touch Abigail the way you've touched me? Did you kiss her, like you kissed me?” She could see his knuckles turning white with the force he was exerting to hold himself in check. Jamie lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you fuck Abigail the way you want to fuck me?”

She saw him swallow, hard. She decided to give the coup-de-gras. “I think I'll call you Mitch from now on, there's fuck all of Duncan left to worry about.”

That did it. “Bitch!” The expletive was accompanied by him standing up suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides. His mouth was working but nothing was coming out. After a tense moment, all the tension flowed out of him and his hands relaxed, his face smoothed out and his shoulders lowered. Duncan was back in control. Not rising to any of her taunts, he picked up his used crockery and walked to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink but not bothering to wash them up. Without another word or glance, he left the room, his back ramrod straight. Jamie watched his departure, a little disappointed he hadn't blown up at her as she'd hoped. Disappointed, but not defeated, she washed up her dishes, as well as his then left the kitchen to return to her room. There was little she could do while the storm raged, and it was a good idea to conserve power by only heating and lighting her room for the time being.

He lay in his room and stared at the ceiling tiles. Outside the plane the wind and snow continued to howl and buffet the fuselage, causing the faintest of movement barely noticeable to those inside.   
He lay there thinking about what she'd said, what she might have meant and pondering if she'd only said some of it to goad him. Her digs about Mitch were either a lucky guess or she really did see Mitch in him, something that filled him with momentary fear quickly tamped down. His years spent working with and for Abigail had never shown any weakening, no hint of Mitch breaking through the supposedly unbreakable suppression, the neuro blockers working as expected. If any breakdown should occur it would take months, years even to overcome, not the few days since Abigail had resynced the system and the headaches had gone. But if facts were to be believed, a few days in the company of one Jamie Campbell was enough to completely fuck up the whole system and leave him adrift in an ocean with no lifeboats in sight, except one filled with lions, and tigers, and bears. He suddenly had another blip of a memory, of reading to a little blond-haired girl from a book that featured lions, and tigers, and bears, the child wanting him to read it again. He blinked, realizing that the little girl had grown up into the woman, Clementine Lewis, and now had a baby of her own to read to. That must make him a grandfather. Wow. 

He dozed, his dreams a jumbled mess of faces and people from the past and the present, some of them he recognized, many of them he didn't. He woke to a feeling of unease, a restlessness that drove him to get up and pace about the cabin. The room was warm enough to not need any heavy clothing, his usual sleeping attire quite adequate despite the blizzard outside. While pacing he thought he heard something, freezing on the spot to try and hear better. Nothing disturbed the regular, muted sounds from outside, but he couldn't settle and decided to go on a prowl of the plane, just to check. Picking up his glasses he put them on, grabbed a torch and put his black coat on over his t-shirt and shorts. Sheepskin lined half boots that probably were used in place of slippers kept the chill from his feet when he stepped into the corridor. The interior of the plane was cool, but nowhere near cold, so he padded the length of the craft, checking the loading bay where the sound from outside was incrementally louder, to the nose of the aircraft, standing staring out of the former cockpit window at the faint lights of the airport barely visible through the sheets of windblown snow streaming past. Satisfied that there was nothing untoward on the plane, he padded back to the bedroom wing, his soft boots silent on the metal floor. He paused outside her room and listened, but heard nothing. No light showed from underneath either, so he carefully slid the door open and slipped inside the darkened room, shutting the door behind him to keep in the warmth. The room smelled of her, her shampoo, her deodorant and her own unique scent, his nose drawing in air to fill his lungs with her. He could hear her breathing, slow and deep, the faint light given out by various bits of tech, as well as the LED lights along the skirting board, showed the bed and the sleeper. He put the torch down on the dresser alongside his glasses, shucking his coat and boots beside it. It was like he was on autopilot, his gaze fixed on the one arm and shoulder resting out of the covers, showing him she was once more naked between the sheets. With his mind's eye filling in the blanks from the view he'd had that morning, he kicked off his shorts and pulled his t-shirt over his head to fall onto the floor. On bare feet he approached the bed, the air redolent with the scent of warm woman, the sleeper unaware of his presence as he drew the covers away from her body, revealing her to him in shades of grey and black, shadows and highlights, his hand reaching out to hover over her breast, the nipple pebbling in the cooler air as if feeling him near. This is madness, he told himself over and over, kneeling on the bed, the mattress dipping as it absorbed his weight. Complete and utter madness. He lowered his head and took the nipple between his lips, laving it with his tongue, teasing it to a point. Total and irrevocable madness. He curved his hand over the other breast, molding it against his warm palm, gently pinching the pert flesh between his thumb and first finger, feeling it rise for him while his mouth suckled and tongued its partner. The sleeper moved slightly and he froze, then continued, moving his body over hers to give him better access to her breasts, his knee edging between her legs, nudging them to make room for him, his cock hot and hard against his belly.   
Her arm, free of the covers lifted to match the other, facing palm-up on the pillow beside her head, stretching her slender limbs upwards, pulling her breast with them. He followed, his free hand sliding down her ribs to her waist, smoothing over her hip and running down her thigh, gripping it softly and drawing it upwards to open her further, the other leg automatically copying the movement so he nestled neatly between her spread legs. Moving forward his cock rested on her abdomen, coating the skin with silver trails when he moved it back and forth. His attention then shifted from her breasts to lower, his tongue dipping into her navel to play for a moment. He shuffled backward on his knees to give him room to dip his head and tongue the short curls covering her sex, his hands clasping her torso at the waist, her feet now resting on his back. Nuzzling the fuzz, he inhaled her musk before moving down, his tongue lapping and sucking everything until he found her entrance and burrowed in. He found and teased the nub at her apex, her hips moving even as her legs lifted to give him greater access, his face smooshed between her legs, sucking and rasping his tongue and lips over her core, inside and out. His hand now cradled her bottom, lifting her higher and angling her against his mouth, her nectar filling his mouth with sweetness, his tongue thrusting inside to mimic what his cock would soon be doing.  
Further up the bed, Jamie awoke from one erotic dream to find herself in another one, her lover hitting all the right spots in his quest to drive her mad. Her skin was on fire, her hands pushing against the headboard to give her leverage and grind against his wicked tongue. She moaned, loudly, and her lover placed hot kisses on her inner thighs, on her belly, working his way up her body until his cock was at her entrance, her panting breaths turning to squeals as she tried to impale herself on his blunt instrument. Her patience was rewarded when he surged forward, sinking in to her until they pubis collided, joining them snugly, her heels digging into his butt to keep him there.   
Then he moved and it got a whole lot better. His mouth was back at her breast, teasing, suckling, pulling while his hips worked to drive him deeper with each stroke. She moaned at the feeling of fullness when he stroked in, keening when he pulled out only to repeat the pleasure over and over.  
She was on the cusp but needed something to push her over. As if reading her mind her lover stopped, then moved them both so she was on top, gravity pushing him impossibly deeper inside her, both of them moaning at the contact. Now it was her turn to tease and torment, finding his nipples hidden in the curling chest hair and biting them to stiffness, his hands curling around her bottom to lift her, pulling the fleshy globes apart while he thrust upwards, flesh slapping against flesh, adding to the moans and groans filling the room. Wanting still more she sat up, his body filling her completely, her hips gyrating to press her pleasure center against his pubic bone. His fingers wiggled between their bodies, finding her nub and sending her over the precipice, shudders running up and down her legs and spine, stars appearing behind her eyelids as her nerves overloaded and she squeezed him unmercifully. He waited for her to ride out her climax before once more flipping her under him, his hips surging to bring his own orgasm on, toes digging into the sheets to steady his stroke, her body hot and liquid around him, muscle spasms urging him on until he felt his balls tighten, sparks snaking down his back building to one last thrust and then he was there, jerking his essence into her while his heart raced and his lungs worked to prevent him passing out from sheer bliss.

In that instant a torrent of memories cascaded through him, snatches of a life he'd never led, of things he'd never seen or been a part of. It was like someone had ripped away a curtain covering a window into a world he'd never known existed. His body went into autopilot, his tall frame collapsing onto the bed beside Jamie where he lay, micro spasms affecting his muscles while his brain seized and shut down.

Jamie reached over to switch on the bedside light, drawing herself up on the bed to do so, then twisting around to look at the man who had just made love to her.   
He was unconscious, a muscle spasm causing him to arch his head back, the tendons on his neck stretched tight. This was no post-coital orgasm, this was something else. He was breathing, but not conscious, his muscles wracked with spasms from his toes to his fingers, his heart racing under her hand when she placed it on his chest.   
“Godammit, Mitch or Duncan, whichever you are, you'd better not die on me now.”  
Fearing he was having a heart attack or a stroke, she threw on a bathrobe and hurriedly belted it while she ran out of the room and down to the lab, throwing on lights as she went. Once there she grabbed the heart defibrillator case, one of the medical monitor laptops, and an epi-pen of adrenalin. On her second trip, she grabbed a small bottle of oxygen and a mask, plus a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. Mitch was now in the center of the bed, the covers pulled up and over him, the room lights on to give her a good idea of his color and oxygenation. He was no longer having spasms, the seizure apparently over, but he wasn't awake either. She rolled him onto his side into the recovery position before attempting to check his vital signs. Satisfied that he wouldn't choke, she listened to his heart and lungs with the stethoscope, relieved that his heart was now beating normally with no sign of arrhythmia or tachycardia. He was also breathing fine, no rattles or crackles in his chest. She spent a few moments attaching monitoring points to his body and setting up the laptop on the bedside table to show the various graphs but to her eye it all looked normal, no obvious spikes to highlight concern.  
She sat on the side of the bed with him facing her, her hand sweeping his wayward hair away from his face.   
“Ah, Mitch. Only you would have a grand-mal after fantastic sex.” She bent down and kissed him on the forehead, stroking his head and monitoring his body for any sign of a return of the shaking or muscle spasms. “Maybe I shouldn't have pushed Duncan so hard, but I wanted you back.”  
She watched him for a further thirty minutes, but he didn't so much as twitch, just remained in a deep sleep, all his vital signs in the normal range. Satisfied he was no longer in danger, she disconnected him from the monitoring equipment and packed it up, moving all the bit and pieces of medical paraphernalia out of the way. She then went back to the lab and switched off the lights as she returned to her bedroom, leaving on the hall light, just in case. In all the rush she hadn't noticed that the storm seemed to have blown itself out, the snow still falling, but now not being blasted against her plane at a hundred miles an hour.   
Switching off the overhead light, she took off the robe and climbed back into bed, drawing Mitch into her arms, his back to her front, his head resting against her chest. She pulled the covers up, their combined body heat and the warmth in the room making her drowsy. Jamie pressed a kiss to his head and made herself comfortable, cradling him against her.

It was daylight when he opened his eyes, the room suffused with a strangely filtered intensity of light, unlike the usual sunlight. His body felt heavy and sore as if he'd been over-exercising or doing something unusual. He lay for a while trying to figure out what was different, then it dawned on him – he was naked in bed with someone. He recognized the décor as being on the plane but he was laying on his side so his view was limited and someone was pressed up against his back preventing him from turning over. On the floor were a number of odd shaped bits of equipment, his eyes unable to focus on them to make out what they were. He looked at the bedside table and his glasses sat there. Putting them on he looked at the shapes, now in focus, and identified one or two medical equipment cases, the defibrillator for one. Why was it in his room? Was this even his room? His brain felt fuzzy and adrift, his thoughts jumbled and non-linear. Given the few clues he had to work with he assumed he was in bed with Jamie, but where was everyone else, the plane so quiet despite the sun being up. They were on the ground, certainly, but where were they? He had no memory of much at all, only impressions and those pretty wild, disappearing the second he tried to make them out. He felt the body behind him stir.   
“Jamie?” his voice came out hoarse as if he hadn't used it in awhile. The body behind him moved away, a hand on his shoulder tugging him on to his back. He lay there looking up into her face, her clear skin washed free of makeup, looking young and adorable in the morning sunshine. “You cut your hair,” he stated, dreamily. “It looks good on you.”   
Jamie stared down at him, her brain racing. “Mitch?”  
He licked his lips. “Yeah?”  
Her heart jumped then settled into a thumping rhythm. “What's the last thing you remember?”  
He screwed his face up as he considered her question. “To be honest, I don't seem able to remember anything at the moment. I don't mean I don't remember you, I just can't seem to get my thoughts in order...am I stoned?”  
She grinned. “No. You're not stoned, but things have been a busy for you lately. Don't worry about the memories, they'll come back in time, I'm sure.”  
“I'd just be happy to remember last night.” He licked his lips again. “I can taste you, so I know we had some fun, I just can't recall it.”  
Jamie leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “You were wonderful, and we had a ton of fun.”  
“Well, that's a relief. Can we do it again, and this time I'll try to remember it?”  
She laughed. “I think a rain-check is in order for the moment. Just relax and I'll catch you up on what you missed.” 

The one thing that confirmed that Duncan and Mitch were one and the same was the knowledge he had that his father, Max, was dead. She had deliberately skirted that issue, not wanting to overload his emotions or tax his memories too hard, keeping her update to what the other team members were doing, and why they, Jamie and the plane, were currently parked on a Siberian runway. Mitch had interrupted her explanation their plans for the next few days.   
“Jamie, what happened....did Abigail shoot my Dad?”  
She had been resting her head on his shoulder, both of them still in bed. On hearing his hesitant question, she sat up. “I'm so sorry, Mitch. We had no idea she had come back to life down in the lab. I was just coming up from the lockup when I heard a shot. She would have got me as well but I ducked.”  
“So you killed her? For real this time?”  
“Oh yeah. She's not coming back from that. One to the heart, one to the head.”  
He lapsed into silence for a long moment. Jamie lay back down, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder again. When he spoke it was a mere whisper.   
“That's my girl.”

He was understandably tired and dozed off while she was explaining something, Jamie leaving him to rest while she dressed and went to find food before contacting the Mirny control tower for an update on the weather and when they could leave. Soldiers and mine workers were clearing the runways and access roads, the backlog of planes waiting to leave not huge, and their place in the queue at number ten. Wrapping up warmly, she ventured out via the loading ramp, the snow piled in drifts around her plane. She had been assured that once the ground had been cleared, a crew would   
be sent to dig out the plane, estimated take off given at thirteen hundred hours. Any later and they'd   
have to stay overnight again and leave in the morning. Mezhdunarodnyy Aeroport had been advised of their delay and would expect them whenever they landed, either that day or the next. Apparently, weather-related delays were to be expected in Russia. She made a visual inspection of the plane but saw nothing to cause concern, water already dripping off the wings as the snow slowly melted. She saw a water truck making slow progress towards them, and waited for them at the ramp in case they needed to confirm anything before refilling the plane's freshwater reserves. 

When she finally closed the ramp and stamped the snow off her boots, an hour or so had passed and she still felt warm and toasty. Shedding her coat and boots to dry out in the laundry, she padded through to the lounge and put the kettle on before heading to the bedroom to check on Mitch. Her lips seemed to be stuck in a permanent smile, not least because of the wonderful work out the night before, but more to do with having Mitch once more with her in body and mind.  
She slid open the door to her room and her smile widened. Mitch was sitting up in bed, still naked under the covers, his glasses on and his fingers dancing over a laptop keyboard. It was such a wonderfully domestic and yet intimate scene she wished she had a camera to capture the moment.   
“Hey.”  
“Hey, yourself. Been building snowmen?”  
“Nope. Been chatting with some Yakut miners.”  
He paused in his typing and looked up at her. “Did they have anything interesting to say?”  
She sat on the side of the bed, facing him. “Not much, they really just wanted to practice their execrable version of the English language on me.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “Don't get to see many American's here?”  
“Don't get to see many anyone's other than Russians here. They are used as a stopover for some of the polar flights, but rarely. Mostly it's mine business or locals going out of town.”  
She leaned forward to look at the computer screen. “Whatcha doing?”  
He turned it so she could see more clearly. “I have all these weird images and knowledge in my head, so I figured rather than try and sort it all out, I'm writing it all down, whatever form it comes to me in, and hopefully we can sort through it and sort out what is mine....or his.”  
Jamie glanced over the multiple paragraphs, noting that he was already on page ten. “Sound like a good idea, sort of like a dream diary.”  
“Yeah. Kinda.” He swung the screen back around and closed it down. “I wanted to ask you something.”  
“Okay. Shoot.”  
He looked away for a moment, then looked back at her. “Why was Duncan in your room last night?”  
Jamie had wondered when this would come up. “You mean why were you in my room last night?”  
He gave her his exasperated look. “No. I wasn't...er...me, last night. I was him, and yet I..he was making love to you.”  
“You, me and him were having fantastic sex last night. The emotional and physical overload was what brought on the seizure. He couldn't hold you back anymore.”  
His mouth twisted as he digested what she said. “But you didn't know that I would have a seizure, or even have a chance of returning to you as myself.”  
Jamie nodded. “That's true. But there's a couple of scenes I've not told you about that had convinced me that it wouldn't take much to force the neuro-blockers to fail and allow you to come to the fore.”  
“A couple of scenes?”  
“Yeah. You see it all started when the baby was born....”

Several minutes later, Mitch lay back on the pillows willing his jumbled brain to bring forth the memories of the moments between him and Jamie. “He said that? Duncan said he wanted to fuck you?”  
Jamie nodded. “Seven ways to Sunday, I think he clarified.”  
“Bastard.”  
She laughed. “I think he was pretty far gone by that stage. You...he was sporting some serious wood after we had that argument and kissed. It was only a matter of when not if.”  
He looked at her then gave her a crooked smile. “I'm almost jealous of him, to go through falling in love with you again. I can't wait for those memories to return.”  
“Oh, I don't think he was in love with me...he just couldn't control his emotions or libido around me.”  
“You're a wicked woman, Jamie Campbell, conniving to seduce the poor man. He never stood a chance.”  
“I wanted you back, Mitch. You should know by now I'll do almost anything to get what I want.”  
“I do know that, your tenacity is what I love about you.”  
Mitch didn't notice when Jamie stiffened, an arrested expression on her face.   
“Say that again?”  
He looked at her, noticing the slightly unfocused look in her eyes. “Um...I love you?”  
“That's the bit. You love me.”  
He started to smile, then let his face relax. “Haven't I said that to you before?”  
Her eyes came to rest on his face. “Nope. And for the record, I love you too.”  
This time they both smiled, Jamie, leaning down to rest her head on his shoulder again, his arm holding her close against his side despite the bunched up covers between them.   
“What a pair we are,” he murmured moments later. “I should have told you the moment I saw you after getting out of that crazy tank and every day since. Did I ever tell you about my dreams?”  
“Dreams? No.”  
“When I was in the tank I had some crazy stuff going on but I remember a dream of you and me, like this in the wretched hovel in South America, the one where we found Jackson and the others.”  
“Yeah?”  
“You'd just got up and put on one of my shirts, and said it was time to go, but I couldn't move.”  
“Why not?”  
“Fuck knows. I told you and you said to hang on, you were coming for me and not to worry. The strange thing is, it was the same cabin where they put the blasted bio-drive in my head in the first place.”  
“It will all come back to you, Mitch, just give it time.”


	4. Hybrids on the Hudson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch retraces his footsteps, Jamie wrestles with the future

They were given the all clear to take off just after one, the runway swept free of snow as was the plane. Another storm was brewing so they didn't hang about, soaring into the sky and heading for Yakutsk. Mitch was up and dressed, his lethargy wearing off the longer he stayed on his feet. They shared a meal and talked some more, the laptop never far from his hand to note down whatever he remembered if it was something that Jamie couldn't corroborate, meaning it was a Duncan memory, not a Mitch memory. Everything was still a mess, but he didn't stress over the details, just happy to be back with Jamie, their relationship stronger than it had ever been.   
Jamie felt like she was floating. Mitch was back and he said he loved her. It was as close to being on cloud nine as she could imagine. Where before they had needed to keep their feelings under wraps around the others, now it was like they were in a bubble, a time and worry-free honeymoon where they were free to talk about anything, dredge up old memories to laugh over, discuss things they'd like to do in the future, ignoring for the moment that a future for everyone was still up in the air. It seemed like they'd only been flying for a minute when they had to strap in and land again.

The airport authorities advised that the storm had veered south and not likely to hit Yakutsk. Despite this, Jamie packed the truck to the roof with everything she could think of to survive the sub-zero environment they were about to enter. They were dressed for the conditions, the truck engine was loaded with antifreeze, the chunky tires hung about with chains. They were informed that the road to their destination was open but icy and they were given a Sat-phone in case they needed to call for help.  
Jamie had already packed their own, but a spare was never wasted. With both a hard copy map and their Navman programmed with maps of the area, they set out to see what could be unearthed at the building where Mitch had been stored, his word to describe how he saw it. 

The road out of town was flat and straight, snow heaped at the side of the road by the snowplows, a few vehicles, mostly trucks, traveling in both directions. They were heading for Magaras, an hour and a half out of Yakutsk. From there they'd take a turn off leading to the abandoned Shepherd compound. The sky was leaden but clear, the truck handling the icy condition easily. Jamie was driving, taking the corner onto the side road at a slow pace, the snow drifts their first obstacle, a high, wire-mesh gate their second. Mitch got out the wire cutters and broke the chain, pushing the gates wide, while Jamie drove through. With him back onbaord, she drove the snowy dirt road warily and eventually the buildings came into view, dark against the white of the landscape. They pulled up to a side door in the lee of the main building, not far from where Jamie and Clem had parked the first time. Mitch tried the light switch once they were inside and a few lights came on, the bulbs flickering but eventually holding steady.   
They followed a line of lights leading into the depth of the building, Jamie leading the way.  
“They kept you in here,” she indicated a doorway, leading him through. Ahead of them were a bank of screens, all of them dark, surrounding a stasis tank with a smashed front glass wall. Mitch stared at it, memories scrolling through his mind's eye, of warm water, then an icy floor, clinging cold shorts and shocks coursing through his body, water in his mouth, in his lungs.   
“This is where I dreamed of you,” he said, pulling Jamie's attention away from her interest in the screens.   
“The tank is the same as the one that had Abigail, and then Clem. If we can get some power to this unit, we could download the raw data and find out the history of its use.”  
“She had two tanks, the other in New York.”  
“The one we put Clem in, yeah. There was nothing in the data we downloaded that mentioned you.”  
Mitch shrugged. “Then probably this is the only one they used for me.”  
“Well, we know irrefutably that you were in New York on the eleventh of July.”  
“The photograph?”  
“We found the picture after we hacked the shipping document for the Melvatox-B delivery which gave us a date and time to find a traffic cam image.”  
“Of me.”  
“Yeah.”  
“So I'd only been in here a few months, not years?”  
“Would seem so. But as I said, the raw data will confirm that.”  
They found the plug the Shepherd had pulled to shut the unit down, so it was straightforward to plug it back in, the small screen on the side instantly lighting up and scrolling through a series of self-tests before settling into a blank screen with a simple prompt signaling it was waiting for input.   
The tanks at the back still contained some of the blue fluid that had flooded out when they broke the glass, the lights still working. The metalwork showed where they'd tried to break through the hinges unsuccessfully, Mitch running his fingers over the marks.  
“I came close to dying a second time, that day,” he murmured.   
Jamie plugged in her tablet to the USB port, downloading everything she could.  
“Got it.” She tucked the tech into her jacket pocket. 

They wandered through the rooms leading off from the tank room, finding one that was used for surveillance, another as a kitchen and rec-room, another filled with bunk beds.   
“Cozy,” Mitch remarked. “I should mention that I don't have any particular memories of here before I was taken out and you and Clem came for me.”  
“Not surprising.” Jamie retraced her steps back into the surveillance room and switched on the screens and consoles. “This might give us a clue.”  
She started the recording which showed the room as it was now. In the search function, she punched in a date, the day she and Clem collected him. She let it play, the footage showing the fake Clem being threatened, Mitch electrocuting the Shepherd in his borrowed IADG uniform, and the pair of them, Mitch and fake-Clem leaving the room. Jamie used a slide bar to rewind the footage to back before even the Shepherds arrival when Mitch was still in the tank. She slowly fast forwarded until the first of the soldiers appeared. Mitch leaned on the console to watch as the men tried to open the tank, the leader pulling the plug, literally and Mitch waking up, thrashing in the water as he panicked, unprepared as he should have been for an exit from the tank. He winced when the glass finally broke and his body flowed out with the water to lay, half-naked on the wet floor. Jamie had her fingers over her mouth, eyes wide as she watched the medic trying to revive him, flinching in sympathy when they slammed an adrenalin needle into him then zapped him. On the screen, Mitch flopped on the floor with each zap and then there was the long wait until he regained consciousness, coughing up fluid and shaking with cold.   
“Oh, my God, that was horrible,” Jamie murmured, reaching for his hand.   
“I've had better mornings.” He gripped her fingers with his, reassuring each other.  
Jamie rewound further back, each image just showing him alone, in the tank, waiting. In the end, she had to rewind back nearly three months to see any movement on the screen. She toggled a bit further and then let it run.   
The image showed the darkened interior with only a few standby lights on the monitors and tank. Then suddenly the image was brightly lit, people pouring into the room, two pushing a gurney with a body on board. Abigail appeared on camera directing her team to bring the tank online and warmed up to receive whoever was on the trolley. Eventually the body was revealed to be Mitch, as they expected, obviously unconscious his face clean-shaven, dressed only in a pair of board shorts. Abigail appeared to run her hand over his body, touching on the scars but she soon indicated for her aids to heave Mitch up the ladder and lower him into the tank, his feet clamped in place. His body convulsed several times as it inhaled the liquid, making the adjustment to the oxygenated fluid that replaced the need for air. Eventually whatever anaesthetic was in the water sent him to sleep and his body relaxed. Abigail stood in front of the tank for a long time while her people finished checking Mitch's vital signs, before packing up. Then they all left and he was alone, in a tank, abandoned in Siberia.   
“There's nothing more for us here,” Jamie stated, hoisting her backpack onto her shoulder. “Let's go.”  
Mitch cast a last look at the image on the screen, then Jamie shut them all down and they left the room. 

The drive back to Yakutsk was somber, Mitch driving to take his mind of what he'd seen, matching it with his memories. Having thought he'd spent years in the tank, it now appeared he'd only spent months. At least for the second time, that he knew of. He would have needed to have been put in the tank after the Razorback attack, but for how long he had no idea. His only clear memory was of saying goodbye to Jamie for the last time, seeing the fence go live to hold back the hybrids, then everything becomes blurred, even the pain he must have felt at the time had dulled, his scarred flesh the only constant reminder that it happened at all.   
He continued to write down any memory that he couldn't catalog into the before and after realities, the Duncan days as he liked to call them. They seemed to be strongest when he was completely relaxed and either falling asleep or waking up. He hoped eventually he'd recognize them when they occurred and not keep on feeling like it was an out-of-body experience instead. 

The plane was exactly where they left it, the airport guards waving them through after a cursory inspection of their paperwork. Once on board, Jamie contacted the control tower and got clearance, warned again to avoid the storm brewing further south. Then they just had to wait their turn to taxi out to the runway and take off. This time around she and Mitch held hands when the plane lifted off, her usual crippling anxiety soothed by his steady presence and warm kisses on her knuckles. Once in the air and on their way to Columbia County airport, Hudson, New York, they prepared a meal, took a shower together and settled in to spend the rest of the day in bed.

“I was thinking of getting a tattoo,” he said, his finger tracing over the blue genie on her shoulder.   
“Really? What did you have in mind?”  
He tapped his finger on the blue figure on her skin. “This looks like a good start.”  
“Matching tattoos? You millennial, you.”  
“Too old. More of a Gen-X.”  
Jamie sighed. “Same. Although if you want to nit-pic I'm more a Xennial than a Gen-X.”  
“Stupid labels, if you ask me,” he grumped, leaning down to kiss her freckled skin.  
“I like the idea that we'd both have matching tattoos. It's romantic.”  
Mitch laughed. “Moi? Romantic? Perish the thought.”  
“You are. You tried to rescue me from those African soldiers, that's romantic?”  
“All I did was get thumped in the gut and didn't help at all.”  
“But you tried. And you protected me from the leopard that came into the camp, and the one at the hospital, that was very romantic.”  
Mitch snorted. “Yeah, right. I was thinking that if I turned and ran, you'd be leopard meat and I'd get away.”   
Jamie laughed. “You thought no such thing. Abe told me you didn't want to go, in Brunswick. You sat down and refused to leave until they found me. I call that pretty romantic.”  
“And they still hauled my ass onto the chopper, so much for noble intentions.”  
“But you found me in the end, that's all that matters.”  
“Yeah, we did. I was so happy to have you in my arms...”  
“I was happy to be there, contrary to what my behavior after suggested.”  
“Yeah, well, you'd had a traumatic time, you just needed to feel safe again.”  
“I was a total bitch to you,” Jamie whispered. Mitch paused in his mapping of her freckles.  
“Didn't stop me being completely besotted with you. You just needed time.” He went back to his kissing.  
Jamie chuckled. “Yeah. Ten years, give or take.”  
“Shit happens. We 're here now, we're just fucked at least one of the seven ways to Sunday, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, and I remember every delicious moment of it. Wanna go again?”

The flight to Hudson, New York was relatively uneventful, the couple spending the twenty-hour flight either in bed indulging their carnal creativity, or padding around the plane naked when hunger or thirst drove them to find sustenance. Only when they were on the approach to Columbia County did they decide to get up and get dressed, even that simple action requiring extensive exploration and a couple of quickies in interesting, unexpected places on the plane. 

Mitch's log of memories was turning into an epic novel, the pages of information piling up, some of the later entries starting to relate to some of the earliest, Mitch having to employ cross-referencing to keep track. A picture was starting to emerge about Duncan's former life that left both Jamie and Mitch profoundly disturbed.  
If the truth ever came out that Duncan and Mitch were the same person, then they would be in a shit-storm of trouble, given that Duncan no longer existed, his personality once more reconciled with Mitch's dominant, original personality. Mitch had both his memories and Duncan's, making him now one and the same person. If someone in authority wanted to pursue it, Mitch had no proof that he hadn't been Mitch Morgan all the time, just using the name Charles Duncan as an alias, making him responsible for all that Abigail and Duncan had done in the last ten years. In fact, they did have incriminating evidence, the photograph, that would be hard to disprove, and not just Jamie and Mitch knew about it. Logan knew as well, and he was right in the thick of the investigation into Abigail Westbrook and Charles Duncan's activities, along with the Shepherds part in it all. Plus all the team were aware to some degree about Charles Duncan, Jackson certainly having met him in Copenhagen, Sam assuredly, since he was introduced to Duncan by Abigail and the rest since the death of Abigail when they were told about the situation. But still, there was no proof that Mitch hadn't just been acting as Duncan throughout it all. They only had Jamie and Mitch's word on that.   
It would be next to impossible to prove that Mitch Morgan had no knowledge of his activities outside the time locked away in his own mind. Everyone associated with the original bio-drive program was either dead, in jail or in hiding from the Shepherd hunters. It was unlikely that many knew about the meatball surgery performed on him in the Yukatan shack, his memories of that patchy at best. Who was there to say he didn't dream it like the one he dreamed about Jamie?  
He had to hope that there wasn't another journalist or investigator of Jamie's caliber out there digging into everything to do with Abigail Westbrook with the same passion and tenacity that Jamie had done so herself. True, she was emotionally invested in finding out because of what happened to him on Pangea, but that one photograph off the traffic cam could spell disaster and life imprisonment for him, and possibly Jamie as well if it all came out.

Somehow they would need to prove that the persona of Charles Duncan was well and truly dead and no way associated with Mitch Morgan. Of course, then he'd have to invent a plausible reason for why he'd been missing for the past decade. Crap. 

The Hudson base that had housed the children, and the stasis tank used for Clem and her baby, was a bust, the same as the previous two bases.There was nobody there, not even evidence that Abendego's had been there. All were only satellites, none of them having a central mainframe to download from. The only information they could glean from New York was that Abigail seemed to be conducting ESP testing in response to feeding the kids Melvatox-B which Duncan had developed, according to Max noticing Mitch's signature within the formula itself. How this all tied in with the hybrid species development program was anyone's guess, Mitch's memories not specific enough yet to pinpoint or establish the connection. Of course, it was possible that after making his delivery of the drug, he was removed from all contact with Abigail's grand plan and placed in the tank, which seemed to correlate with the time frame from Siberia. Why she'd done this was unknown, as were most of the woman's motivations. Maybe she wanted him to be found and used as an infiltrator, to be recalled at some later date to report back. Mitch's tampering with the bio-drive shortly after he was rescued, might have scuppered that plan when he put the drive into sleep mode, which was reversed, then reactivated by Max zapping his brain with the EM pulse generator. It was all wheels within wheels.   
It was another possible scenario that Duncan had largely been kept out of the loop in regards interaction with the rest of Abigail's team, keeping him in the background, working on her various projects, but not taking part in their execution of them. That would account for why Jamie had been stumped to find much information about him, calling him a 'ghost' apart from that one breakthrough earlier in the year. Even that clue would have been almost impossible to crack without the military-grade software to illuminate the image.

If all that wasn't enough, there was another threat, this time to them all. The main player in the hybrid stakes was still Reiden Global, the connection through Leanne Duchovny and subsequently with Abigail, reeked of conspiracy and collusion. If Leanne was the PR face of Reiden, was the ESP trials and Mevatox-B part of a Reiden initiative in co-operation with Abigail? How did the two come together, was it something to do with the mother cell? Had Jackson's father and with him Abigail, been in Reiden's pocket all this time? Had Reiden been behind the Shepherds all this time? Were the team supporting Abigail with her experiments in the employ of Reiden Global? Is so, where were they now? And to what purpose were Reiden involved? The questions within questions were mounting up and no one had any answers. 

Back at the Columbia County airport, they parked up inside and raised the ramp. Both of them were glad to be home.  
“Never thought I'd ever call this home, but when you consider it, it is.”  
Jamie chuckled. “Not longing for your professorial digs?”  
“God, no. Faculty apartments are not exactly flash. Tidy, small, unimaginative and cheap, and close to the campus, but not luxury living by any standard.”  
“What did you do with your stuff when you became part of the team?” Jamie asked.  
“Once it became obvious that things were going the way they did, I had my place packed up and shipped to the Morgan family farm, for storage.”  
“You're joking!”  
Mitch shook his head. “Not a bit. A cousin is, or was, the current resident and caretaker of the stately pile, all three homesteads, four barns, a chicken run and a corral. My stuff is probably moldering away in one of the barns.”  
“Wasn't it sold when your parents divorced?”  
“Nope. Morgans have only ever been caretakers, never outright owners, so it couldn't be sold because we never owned it.”  
“Have you lived there since your parents divorced?”  
“Signed the paperwork and handed it over into Jeff's care when they both remarried.”  
“And where is this place?”  
“Just outside a little town called Sloatsburg, nearly on the border between New York and New Jersey.”  
“Wow. You wanna go visit?”  
Mitch looked a little stunned. “I hadn't thought about it, but I suppose...”  
Jamie was busy with her tablet. “It's only about an hour and a half, two hours max from here. A piece of cake when you compare it with driving in Siberia.”  
“Well, when you put it like that...”

Mitch drove, the truck looking right at home on a road now populated almost exclusively with Humvee's and armored four-by-fours. The streets were nearly empty of pedestrians, only those that couldn't avoid traveling were out and about. The rest hired an armed escort or took the public transport, also heavily protected. Soon even that traffic thinned as they crossed the Hudson River via the fancifully named Rip Van Winkle bridge. When they got onto the interstate eighty-seven their only accompaniment was the occasional trucks, usually with an armed escort front and back. Surrounded as they were with wooded slopes as far as anyone could see, it made sense not to take any chances. There was always the possibility of running into a pack of hybrids.  
“It must all look quite lovely in the autumn,” Jamie observed, the deciduous trees now devoid of leaves, a few pines still bravely showing green among the bare tree trunks.   
They continued along the Hudson Valley, skirting the Catskill Mountain preserve, the views breathtaking the further south they traveled. They reached Sloatsburg, nestled on the south side of the Harriman state park, then turned off to reach Tuxedo lake where the farm was. Mitch had tried to call his cousin, Jeff but there'd been no reply. He put it down to the spotty reception among the hills, or maybe a tower down.   
“It's very...quaint,” Jamie observed. “Almost historical looking.”  
“The area around here was settled by the Dutch and Germans in the mid seventeen-hundreds. Saw quite a bit of action during the revolutionary war in the late seventeen-hundreds. George Washington stayed in Sloat's Tavern at least one and traveled this route several times. Used to be famous for bootlegging in the nineteen-twenties,” Mitch told her.  
“Colorful.”  
They were now driving through lush, groomed countryside with houses that spoke of money and elegance. After passing a sizable golf course, they drove a stretch of road with no houses then there was a turn off to the left.  
“Here we are,” Mitch announced, turning into the short cul-de-sac, passing a couple of houses before reaching the end. He pulled into the yard of the third house and parked.   
He sat there for a moment, the engine ticking as it cooled down. Jamie looked over at him and saw him frown.  
“Problem?” she asked.  
“Just expected a welcoming committee. Jeff has several kids, a pack of dogs and loves cars. So far I'm not seeing any of them.” He got out of the truck, Jamie following. There was little to see beyond the three buildings, the area around them thickly tree'd, a ridge at the back of the property, several outbuildings set further back behind the houses.   
Mitch walked up the porch steps and rapped on the front door. Jamie walked a few steps along the porch and stared out at the trees.   
“Does it seem a bit quiet to you?” she asked, turning to look at him. Mitch raised his hand to knock on the wooden door again, then all hell broke loose.   
Around the corner of the porch came a huge Razorback, jaws wide open and leaping for Jamie. She turned to face it, her hand reaching for her gun, as usual, holstered on her hip. She wasn't fast enough, going down under the mountain of spines, fur, and teeth.   
“Jaime!!” Mitch yelled, darting forward in an attempt to do something to save her, one hand ending up skewered on a spine as sharp as a knife. Pulling his left hand back and ignoring the blood, he desperately looked for something to use as a weapon.   
Jamie stared up into the jaws of death, literally, and used her feet to kick at the beasts underbelly. It seemed to have little effect, the hybrid chomping down on her arm, the pain making her scream and kick out even more, her free hand raking at the creature's muzzle, trying to find its eyes. Her gun had been knocked out of her hand and skittered away, but her knife was still there if she could just reach it before the Razorback ripped her throat out. She was concentrating so hard on keeping the slavering jaws away from her jugular, she didn't notice Mitch until the hybrid yelped and pulled back. Mitch laid into it again, bringing the chunk of railing down on its head, back or wherever he could hit, the head swinging about to face him, drawing its attention from Jamie for a second. It was enough for her to scrabble for her gun. She rolled onto her back and fired off a series of shots, the hybrid falling back further before turning and running off the way it had come. She stayed motionless for a moment then collapsed flat on her back, her head bouncing off the wooden boards, the gun dropping from her lax fingers.   
Mitch stared after the creature for a second then dropped the improvised weapon to see to Jamie.   
He noted her left arm was bleeding copiously, the sleeve of her leather jacked torn to shreds. The woman herself was unresponsive, her blood staining the wood beneath her.   
“Shit, shit, shit...” Mitch muttered to himself, getting up and running to the truck to grab the medical kit and a gun. When he returned he lifted Jamie to get the jacket off to allow him to get pressure on the wounds and apply a tourniquet. When the blood slowed significantly he turned his attention to getting inside the house. Apparently, he knew how to break in and enter a standard door, possibly a technique learned by his alter ego, the lock giving in to his manipulation and swinging wide.   
“Anyone home?” he shouted, in case the occupants were hiding, but there was no response. He managed to lift Jamie and staggered into the house, entering the first room on the ground floor and laying her down on the closest sofa, ignoring the blood staining the pale fabric covering. Getting up he put his hand on the armrest, leaving behind a crimson print, reminding him that he was injured as well.  
“Godammit!” He went back out onto the porch and collected the medical kit, falling to his knees beside the sofa to empty it, using one roll of bandaging to wrap around his hand and halt the gore dripping everywhere. Tieing that off with his teeth, he turned to Jamie's arm, loosening the tourniquet to judge the blood flow, tightening it again when more blood gushed out.   
“Punctured artery,” he muttered, laying out the contents of the kit as quickly as possible. He pulled over a coffee table and laid her arm on it to keep it level. “Probably the radial, multiple puncture wounds...” he murmured to himself, using a swab to clean the congealing blood away from the deepest of the gashes. As quickly as his bandaged hand would let him, he pulled the edge of the wound apart to reach the damaged artery, clamping it before he stitched the tear, then closed the wound. He repeated the same process, choosing the next worst, then the next until all the punctures and tears were stitched, the blood no longer seeping out when he released the tourniquet for the last time and took it off.   
The bandage around his own hand was once more soaked in blood, so he replaced it. Getting to his feet he weaved his way to the kitchen, feeling the effects of blood loss.  
“Don't pass out, don't pass out...” he repeated the litany to himself as he rummaged in the cupboards and drawers for a bucket and towels. Having found what he wanted he filled the bucket and carried it, with the bundle of towels, back to the living room. When he knelt beside the couch he felt woozy but continued on, washing Jamie's arm before wrapping it loosely. He expected some swelling so kept the covering light. Sitting back he leaned against the side of the sofa, his adrenaline starting to leach away, leaving him faint. He lifted his hand and looked at the blood-soaked bandage. “Damn, forgot about you.” Struggling, he heaved himself up and unwrapped his hand, the holes in the palm and on the top of his hand only bleeding sluggishly. “Must be your lucky day, Mitchy boy, it missed the bones.” Once more employing his needle he stitched the two wounds, then washed and rewrapped it, his vision starting to grey as he tied off the knot.   
“Time to pass out now....” he whispered, slumping to one side until he landed sideways on the carpet. 

When he regained consciousness, it was dark out and he felt stiff and sore, pain lancing from his hand up his arm in throbbing waves. Grimacing he levered himself upright with his good hand, the other cradled across his middle. A quick search revealed a needle and small vial, Mitch injecting himself with a local to numb his hand so he could work. Once the pain subsided he lurched to his feet to check on Jamie once he switched on the lights, thanking whatever God was looking over them that the power was still on. She looked pale, her arm, when he unwrapped it, looked inflamed and sore. Given the less than sterile conditions he had to clean and stitch it, he wasn't surprised. He administered a broad spectrum antibiotic and a measured dose of morphine. It wouldn't take all of the pain away, but take the edge off enough until he could assess her conscious condition. He cleaned up the bloody towels and dumped them in the bucket, carrying it all to the kitchen. Finding a collection of clean tea-towels he carried them back to make a pad to rest Jamie's arm on, still outstretched across the low table. He pulled a throw off the back of the couch to cover her and raised her feet on several cushions, as well as one behind her head. Having made her as comfortable as possible, he went to find a landline, his mobile still not working. When he lifted the phone he heard a dial tone and closed his eyes in relief for a second, then dialed nine-one-one.

“I'm sorry sir, but due to the number of calls, we won't be able to get to your location for several hours.”  
“You have to be shitting me. She needs urgent medical attention now.”  
“Is the patient have difficulty breathing?”  
“Well....no, not at the moment...”  
“Is the patient bleeding heavily from her wounds?”  
“No, but only because I stitched her up!”  
“Is the patient in immediate threat?”  
“Er...no. Unless that hybrid comes back...”  
“You are on our list of callouts, we'll get there as soon as we can, sir.”  
“Fine,” Mitch muttered and hung up the phone. He rubbed his forehead and walked back into the living room. He glanced at Jamie and saw that her eyes were open. Immediately he hurried over to her side and knelt beside the couch.   
“Hey.”  
“Hey,” Jamie replied. “I think I must be on the good stuff, I can't feel a thing.”  
Mitch gave her a crooked smile. “Morphine. Look, the local hospital is overrun and they can't get here for hours, so I'm going to drive us back to the plane. I can use the resources there to fix you up.”  
“What happened to the hybrid?”  
“No idea, haven't seen it since. I'll get our stuff back in the truck then come back and get you, okay?”  
“Mitch?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Don't rush, I'm liking this morphine.”  
Except that he ignored her and did indeed rush, Jamie able to just about walk, with help, to the truck, her arm held in a sling to keep it immobile. Once in the truck, he strapped her in, then dashed around to the driver's side. He glanced up at the house, once more in the dark. If his cousin came back, they were in for a gory surprise. 

The drive back to the plane was fraught for both of them. Mitch tried to drive as quickly and bump-free as possible, the two unfortunately mutually exclusive. Jamie tried not to wince every time he did hit a bump, her attempts for nothing as Mitch saw every one. 

Mitch was so happy to see the plane. His hand was throbbing like a bitch and Jamie didn't look so hot either. He activated the ramp remote and waited for it to open, then drove in, moving as fast as he could to get her out of the vehicle and into his lab-come-medical bay. He sat her down while he pulled over the padded gurney, helping her to get on before leaving her to gather supplies and equipment. He knew the local was well and truly wearing off when he accidentally knocked his hand and he yelped, the level of pain making him feel sick. Jabbing himself with another local, he waited for that to take effect before setting up a drip, hooking her up to a monitor and arranging a side tray to rest her arm on so he could look at it. The morphine was starting to wear off and Jamie was increasingly feeling the pain from her wounds, her teeth biting her lower lip, her face grey with trying to cope.  
“Hey,” Mitch murmured. “You don't have to be strong, scream or yell if it hurts, and I know it will hurt. I don't want to give you morphine again, so I've got something that will take the edge off but not take the pain away completely, sorry.”  
Her eyes swiveled to meet his. “I know you're doing your best. Don't worry, I can deal with it.”  
He tried to work as quickly as he could, hooking her up to fluids, putting her into an oxygen mask, and giving her another shot of painkiller combined with an anti-inflammatory. When she indicated they were starting to work, he unwrapped her arm to check he hadn't botched the stitching by making any of the stitches too tight or pulling the skin oddly. He didn't care if he ended up with another scar, but he didn't want Jamie to be that way. He was no plastic surgeon but he had a certain pride in his usually neat work. Her arm was pink and swollen, none of his stitches thankfully looking rough or untidy. With luck, her scars would fade in time.  
Jamie turned to look at her arm and then looked away, hurriedly.   
“God, that looks bad.”  
“Could have been worse. Can you move your fingers for me?”  
She did as instructed, her movement stiff, but within what he expected.   
“That's fine. Now you need to rest. Once those fluids are in, I'd like to get you into bed.”  
Jamie cracked an eye open. “Hardly the time for that, Doctor Morgan.”  
“Ha. Ha. You need to be close to a bathroom, and as comfortable as possible.”  
“Bed sounds pretty good right now,” she replied, her eyes closing again.   
He found a blanket and covered her, keeping an eye on the drip as well on her color. She still looked pale, but for now, it was as good as could be expected. 

Before his own painkillers wore off, they struggled up the stairs and got her into her bed, stripping off her outer clothes then managing a bathroom break before getting her settled. With pillows arranged to support her arm, she was as comfortable as she was going to get. He reconnected the drip and replaced the oxygen mask. Jamie looked up at him, her eyelids heavy.  
“Hey, you gonna join me?”  
“Not this time, sweetheart. I'll just be across the hall, and I'll leave the doors open, so you just scream if you need anything and I'll be here in a trice.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, watching as her eyes finally slid closed and she slept.  
He wanted to monitor her in case there were any side effects of having hybrid slobber in the wounds, but his head was reeling and he needed to rest if he was not to become a patient himself.   
He returned to the lab and unwrapped his hand, inspecting it for any signs of infection but finding it only swollen, the stitches clean. Happy with how it looked, he redressed it and dragged himself up to the bedroom across the hall from Jamie's. Shucking his outerwear he fell into bed and instantly fell asleep despite the room light still being on.   
Sometime later he became feverish and started to dream, imagining that spines were starting to grow out of the palm of his hand, his fingers turning into claws. He jerked awake in a bath of perspiration, feeling cold and his hand throbbing like the worst. He'd brought up some pills and dumped them on the bedside table, knowing he'd need them later. Getting out of bed, he staggered to the bathroom, took a piss then grabbed a glass of water. Flopping down on the side of the bed he popped a couple of the pills and gulped down the cool water. He sat for a moment, then put on his glasses and got up to wander over and check on Jamie. She appeared to be sleeping, so he just checked on the bag, finding it almost empty, and then left her to return to his bed, his injured hand cradled against his chest.   
The room was swimming around him, his feet unsteady as he lurched over to the bed. He all but fell full length, every scrap of energy leeched out of him, his head feeling like a balloon.   
“This is so not good...” he sighed, closing his eyes and willing the merry-go-round to slow down. 

Jamie awoke to her arm throbbing painfully. “Mitch?” she called out, seeing his door open across the hallway, but he didn't immediately appear. Thinking he was probably sleeping she tried again. “Mitch!” Along with her arm, her bladder was demanding attention, the bag hanging on the pole empty. She waited but still, Mitch didn't appear. If he didn't appear soon, she'd have to get herself to the bathroom or find herself in a waterbed, not a comfortable prospect.   
More minutes ticked by and she cursed under her breath. She carefully removed the needle in her good arm, then moved around on the bed to get her legs over the side, before lifting herself up, her injured arm cradled against her chest. Panting, she rested for a moment before attempting to stand up. When that was achieved she shuffled over to the bathroom, sweat beading on her forehead from the effort. 

Her comfort level considerably improved, she washed her hand and peered at herself in the mirror.   
“You've looked better,” she chided herself before turning to shuffle back into the bedroom. Instead of returning to bed she kept on going and crossed the corridor to Mitch's room. The lights were still on and she leaned briefly on the door jamb to steady herself. Mitch was lying stretched out on the bed, but not tidily, his head was nowhere near the pillows and his feet dangled off the end of the bed. Shuffling closer she lowered herself to perch on the side of the mattress. With her good hand, she rested it on his forehead – it was icy. She touched his neck, feeling for his pulse – it was sluggish and irregular. Thoroughly alarmed she tried to wake him, shaking him and tapping his face, but she got no response. His injured hand was bandaged to above the wrist, but above that his whole arm appeared to be covered in a network of purplish threads as if ink had been injected into his veins and under his skin.  
“Oh, Mitch. What is going on with you?” She gritted her teeth and rose from the mattress. “We need professional help for this...”  
Making her way to the lounge she found her tablet and dialed the emergency number. When they replied she explained their situation and was told a medical team would be there shortly. With her arm throbbing unmercifully, she sat down briefly before the sound of sirens prompted her out of her daze and sent her to lower the ramp to allow the team onboard. Her legs were shaking when she reached the loading bay, the team running on board, one of the paramedics supporting her while they brought a gurney forward for her to lie on.   
“Please, Mitch is in one of the bedrooms, he's really sick, his arm...”  
“Don't worry, we'll get to him next. Let's get you onboard. Your husband will follow shortly.”  
Jamie didn't have the will to correct the medic, she just wanted them to get to Mitch as soon as possible. Once again she had an oxygen mask covering her face, a blanket over her legs and a female medic was inserting another needle into her arm, the throbbing in her injured arm reaching a crescendo making black spots swim in front of her eyes. To her infinite relief, she passed out shortly afterward.


	5. Fight Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie checks her bank balance, Mitch has a Star Wars moment.

“Miss Campbell, Jamie I need you to open your eyes, please. Can you do that?” A husky female voice implored her and she tried to lift her lids. The voice noticed. “That's great, you're doing great. Now try and stay awake if you can.” Jamie swallowed, noting the sound of machinery beeping at different times, the light around her soft but bright.  
“Hospital?” she asked, squinting to focus on the person with the voice.   
“Yes, you are in a hospital, Jamie. I need to ask you some questions. How were you injured?”  
Jamie licked her lips. “I was attacked by a Razorback. Tore me up some.”  
“And where were you attacked?”  
“Sloatsburg, up in the hills.”  
“Can you tell me who stitched you up?” the voice asked.   
“Mitch. Doctor Mitch Morgan...he's really sick, is he here?”  
“He is here, the doctors are working on him right now. Did he get attacked too?”  
Jamie shook her head slowly. “He tried to get it off me, but one of the spines...went right through.”  
“And was Doctor Morgan involved in a car accident a few years ago?”  
“What? No...”  
“I just ask because of the scars.”  
“Oh. He was attacked ten years ago by Razorbacks, we thought he'd died, there was so much blood.”  
She felt herself drifting, the edges of her vision going grey, the light dimming.   
“You can go to sleep now Jamie, just relax, you're being well taken care of.” The soothing voice faded into the background as she gave in to the darkness, the drugs working their magic. 

Mitch was in agony, his hand feeling like it was as big and tight as a balloon, the skin hot as if on fire. His arm wasn't much better, the sensation similar to what he expected branding must feel like, heat and searing pain. He moaned and tried to pull himself away from what was causing the pain, but he couldn't seem to move freely, his body held down to a hard bed, his face covered by something that he reached up to drag off.   
“He's waking up,” a voice announced, a machine letting out a screeching alarm that pierced his head like a metal spike. He screamed, lashing out with his uninjured arm, his legs working to try and put some distance between himself and the unendurable pain.   
“Up the dosage, we need to get him under again and quickly...”  
He heard the voices, but despite his eyes being open, he couldn't make anything out, the figures moving around him all blurred, like ghosts. Something cold flowed into his arm and he flinched, then started to relax when the something started to spread through his body, the icy cold quenching the flames licking his body, soothing, cooling and bringing peace.  
“He's gone. Let's try and get this done, people before he wakes again.”

Jamie stirred, sunlight streaming in through the window of the room she was in. Her arm was dressed from wrist to shoulder, bent at the elbow and impossible to move as if in a cast. It was also in a sling to prevent her trying to use it. The biggest positive was the lack of pain. Reaching over to press the button to summon the nurse, she lay back and stared up at the ceiling. A curtain divided the room and she wondered who her roommate was. At length, a nurse arrived and smiled to see her patient awake.   
“Nice to see you awake, Miss Campbell. Want to try and get out of bed for a bit?”  
“How long was I out for?”  
“Not very long, really. How about a shower?”  
“How long?” Jamie pressed.   
“Three days. Now let me get this bed a bit more upright to make it easy for you to sit up.”  
Jamie sat up, bemused that she'd slept through the last few days. Then she remembered.  
“Mitch. Mitch Morgan, he came in with me, how is he? Is he okay?”  
The nurse smiled broadly. “You can see for yourself.” She pulled back the dividing curtain to reveal Mitch in the next bed over, hooked up to a number of monitors, his left arm bandaged from his fingertips to his shoulder, looking like a matched pair to her. He'd missed out of several days of shaving and his chin and cheeks were dark with regrowth, his face pale under his unruly mop of hair, dark circles under his eyes. Jamie accepted the help of the nurse to shuffled her way over to his bed, her hand reaching out to touch him. He felt warm, no longer the horrible cold and clammy of before.  
“I think I'd like that shower now,” Jamie said, turning back to the nurse who helped her to the bathroom.  
Later, she sat beside her bed and contemplated the view beyond the windows, not really seeing the building, her thoughts turned inwards. She heard her name called and turned her head. Getting to her feet she padded to Mitch's bed and pushed the curtain back. He was still lying with his eyes shut, but he was moving restlessly under the covers, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace. Suddenly he shouted her name, startling her. She moved closer and leaned over him, her free hand smoothing over his face, connecting herself with him.   
“Hey, I'm here, I haven't gone anywhere. Open your eyes, Mitch, you can see me...” she kept up the small talk, willing him to open his eyes and come back to her. At length, she was rewarded with his eyelids fluttering then slowly lifting. “There you are, hey...” She smiled down at him, her hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead. “We're both in hospital. I had to call the paramedics, Mitch, you were really sick.” His brown eyes stared into hers, but he didn't speak. Slowly he blinked, a crease forming between his dark brows. He swallowed, then licked his lips, his eyes sliding to the jug of water sitting on his side table.   
“Just a moment, I'll get you a drink.” She awkwardly filled a cup and put a straw in it, then lifted it to his lips for him to moisten his mouth. His eye closed briefly as the cool liquid flowed down his throat and over his tongue.   
“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “How long?”  
“A few days, I think. I've been out at least three, according to the nurse.” She handed him his glasses. “Now we have matching arms.”  
He stared down his left arm, a look of trepidation on his face. When it looked relatively normal, despite the heavy bandaging, he lay back, relieved. “I dreamt it was swollen up like a balloon,” he explained, giving Jamie a half smile. “I'm just glad they didn't cut it off.”  
“Maybe there was some sort of poison on the spine?”  
“Probably. I was a bit busy making sure you didn't bleed to death to notice.”  
“You did a good job. They didn't have to restitch anything.”  
Mitch closed his eyes, raising his good arm to lay across his forehead. “How long are we going to be here?”  
Jamie shrugged, then winced, regretting the rash movement. “No idea. Haven't seen a doctor yet, only the nurse.”  
He reached up for the call button and pressed it. “Then let's find out.”

The doctors didn't make their rounds 'til later in the day, so they both settled down to wait. Meantime Mitch was taken by a male nurse to the showers and came back cleanly shaven and looking much better.   
“Damn, but I needed that,” he announced, sitting on the side of his bed facing the window. Jamie was sitting up in her bed, but not under the covers.  
“It does perk you up. Hungry?” she asked.  
“Ravenous. When's feeding time around here?”

Soon they were eating the delights of hospital food, Mitch for once too hungry to complain about the content or the quality. Afterwards, they were visited by a flock of doctors, mostly seniors, but several juniors mixed in for the experience. Mitch and Jamie both had to relate their versions of the attack and aftermath, Mitch praised for his speedy triage with Jamie and his neat stitching. Jamie's arm was unraveled and the various ugly wounds displayed for discussion of treatment and prognosis. Mitch was next, his hand exposed to show off the puncture wounds, one of the senior surgeons explaining what they did to remove pieces of the outer skin of the spine left in the wound that had caused the violent reaction and his body's fight against the venom poisoning him.   
“You were lucky, Doctor Morgan, that it was a straight through and through. We were able to get the wound thoroughly cleaned before restitching it. You should be back to fighting form in a few days.”  
Mitch sent the man a thin smile and watched as the gaggle of doctors, young and old, finally left the room.   
“So, a few days,” Mitch mulled that over. “Reckon we can be out in two.”  
“I will be glad to get back to my bed. The ones here...” she patted the mattress. “Not exactly a Posturepedic.”  
“Slept in worse. I'm sorry about your arm.”  
“What are you apologizing for? Now we will both carry some impressive scars to show off at parties.”  
Mitch could help but respond to her infectious grin. “Does nothing get you down?”  
Jamie lifted her good shoulder. “Plenty. But right now we're being taken care of, which makes a nice change. We're together, which is very nice, and we're alive.”  
“A definite bonus,” Mitch finished for her.   
“Quite. When we get back to the plane, we can contact the others and find out how they're getting on with the cure.”  
“Back to business,” Mitch muttered. Jamie cocked her head at him.   
“Are you thinking about your cousin?”  
Mitch looked up. “No. I'm thinking about us, about you.”  
Jamie waited, but when he didn't elaborate she continued. “What is going on in that brain of yours?”  
Mitch told her. “We've already talked about the possibility that I could be arrested for working with Abigail. I have no clue yet what or who I met while I was Duncan. My memories are not exactly precise, and who knows if they ever will be. I'm not sure that staying with the team is going to help in the long run. If I am arrested, then my credibility will go down the toilet, and that could affect everything the team is trying do. Guilty by association and all that.”  
“Then what do you think you should do?”  
“I don't know. Drop off the planets? Find an isolated island to hide on, lose myself somewhere no one would think to look, maybe within hybrid territory on the west coast?”  
“You mean do a Jackson. Change your name, hide out west, risk your life every day?”  
Mitch grimaced. “Not exactly, but something like that.”  
“I have a better idea,” she announced.  
“I'm open to suggestions,” Mitch retorted.  
“We crash the plane.”  
Mitch stared at her. “And that helps us how?”  
Jamie gave him the look. “We don't actually crash the plane, that would be idiotic. No, we make it look as if the plane went down, somewhere largely inaccessible where no one would want to go to investigate.”  
“Like hybrid territory on the west coast.”  
“Maybe. Probably somewhere mountainous, somewhere that a crash it not completely implausible.”  
“And then?” he asked.  
“We land the plane somewhere and go on with our lives, new lives.”  
“But...” Mitch started to argue but Jamie forestalled him.  
“We could still carry on with the work on the hybrids, looking for a cure, we just won't be having our name up in lights when it's achieved and they're handing out the medals.”  
“I'm okay with that, but Jamie...”  
She interrupted him. “Don't you dare start some tired argument about me having the rest of my life to live or some other nitwitted excuse for me not dropping off the map. As Logan is fond of reminding me, I have a rap sheet as long as my arm, and it would only take one more infraction for him to arrest me, so this would be a chance to clean the slate for me, get out from under this sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”  
Mitch chewed on his lip for a moment. “Do we tell the others?”  
“I think we need to tell one of them, probably Abe. I can set up an email account we can check for any messages, but otherwise.....oh, what about Clem and the baby?”  
“Yeah. I'd have to tell Clem. I can't have her grieving over losing us, losing me again. That would be cruel.”  
“I agree. This is to get the authorities off our backs, not to ditch everyone we know.” She reached over to clasp his hand with her own. “So, we have a plan?”  
Mitch squeezed her fingers. “I guess we do.”

They were given a clean bill of health a week later, Jamie still having to wear a sling, her arm still bandaged to the shoulder, Mitch not so heavily inhibited, his dressings mostly over his hand to the wrist. Neither showed any adverse reactions to their interaction with razorback slobber and poison, but Mitch wasn't sure there wouldn't be a payback at a later date. For now, Jamie was looking peachy and he could use his hand, within limits. After filling their prescriptions they caught an armored taxi to the airport and climbed aboard the plane.   
“We really should name her,” Mitch said as they dumped their small amount of baggage into his room.   
“Name who?” Jamie asked, pulling out her ruined leather jacket. “This is gonna have to be tossed.”  
“Cut the other sleeve off and you have a leather vest,” Mitch quipped, grinning. “And I meant the plane, we should have a name for it.”  
“Oh. I never really thought of giving it a name.” She walked across the hall and tossed the jacket inside along with her other personal items. “Here's a good one, how about Zoo Force One!”  
“Hah. Like it. Probably breaking some sort of regulation to have a plane that sounds similar to the President's.”  
“Okay...how about Zoolandia.”  
“Wasn't that a movie?”  
“Scooby-Zoo?”  
“Now, you're just being silly.”  
“Then you think of something.”  
“Scar on the Sky.”  
Jamie looked at him. “Seriously?”  
“Or how about Into the void?”  
“No. I like it. Scar on the Sky...it's dark, moody, intense.”  
“There you go...perfect.”  
“I'm going to skype the team and see what's been happening with them,” Jamie advised, leaving him and heading for the lab. Mitch followed more slowly, hearing Jamie talking as he entered her communications hub. Abe's face filled the screen and he was talking about something to do with the cure for sterility.   
“As you are aware, I was working at home on isolating the NLRP two protein, work that was leaked to Reiden just before that woman was killed in New York. Then during my work on the hybrids, I discovered that the spinal fluid of the different hybrids each contained part of the DNA needed, plus each individual creature had different abilities like one had a hyper-growth protein and another an anti-pathogen property. With the final addition of Abigail's spinal fluid we have the complete picture now, and with stem cells from the baby, we are able to create a serum that should overcome the effects of the TX fourteen gas, allowing the natural release of the ovulation hormone so that one half of the cure is complete.”  
“That's wonderful news, Abe. What about the male fertility side of the equation?” Jamie asked, Mitch standing behind her and listening intently.  
“We have yet to prove the viability of the new serum, but when we do, then the next stage after ovulation is fertilization of a viable egg. Since the majority of men were affected by the gas, we are having to use sperm banks for active samples, but that is a little while away yet. If we can achieve a reset of the women's fertility cycle, that would be a start along the road to producing a child to term. It is all very exciting and I have a great team of experts here to help us now.”  
Mitch leaned forward. “That's a great advancement, Abe. Good to hear.”  
“How are Clem and the baby?” Jamie asked.   
“They are very fine. The baby grows every day and Clem is a good mother. We are keeping a close watch on Sam Parker but he seems to be more settled now that Abigail is gone and his son arrived.”  
“Is Clem still in the hospital?” Mitch asked.   
“No, she has been moved to a secure location to keep her safe from the media, hybrids and those that might seek to harm the baby. It seems illogical, but there are factions out there who would try and stop the work I'm doing.”  
“Abe? Where's Jackson?” Jamie asked.  
“Apparently when Abigail died the first time, a hidden switch in her neck set off a beacon in Tokyo, which in turn has started to activate others across the world. When they tried to shut off the beacon it exploded and took out a city block. Hundreds were killed and those that didn't die in the explosion were taken by the cloud of hybrid spore that polluted the air. My initial studies of the octopus hybrid showed it could counteract the effects of the spore, so a team are working on synthesizing that, while Jackson has gone with an IADG team to a beacon set off in China to see if there's a way he can get that taken down without causing what happened in Tokyo.” He paused, looking away from the webcam as if listening to someone in the room. Then he turned back.  
“The raw data you downloaded from the switch in Abigail has been decoded and it has revealed an entire network of beacons across the world from Australia to South America and all points in-between. All of them potential bombs, and all of them tied to a hidden nest of hybrids just waiting for the signal to gestate and overrun wherever they are.” He leaned towards the camera.  
“I don't think either of you should return here. There's been speculation... rumors...”  
“What sort of speculation, Abe?” Mitch asked.  
“That you are responsible for all this, Mitch. As Duncan, you are the architect of these beacons, as much as Abigail is responsible for the hybrid nests. Questions are being asked, and I've heard whispers that if you come back here to Seoul you will both be taken into custody for questioning, at the very least.”  
“Thanks for the heads up, Abe.” Mitch drew in a breath. “And Abe? If you see Clem, tell her I'll get in touch with her soon, when the heat has died down around all this. Will you tell her I love her and look forward to seeing my grandson in the future?”  
“I'll do that for you, Mitch. I'm glad you found a way to come back, but it is not safe here and soon, possibly it won't be safe anywhere.”  
“We hear what you're saying. Whatever you hear or are told, just believe that nothing is as it seems. Understand?”  
Abe stared at them both, then nodded slowly. “Good luck to you both. I hope that this is not the last time we have the opportunity to talk.”  
“It won't be. Keep up the good work, Abe.”  
“Take care of each other,” Abe replied. Then the screen went dark.

For a long moment they didn't move, then Jamie stood up and turned into Mitch's arms, the pair of them hugging each other as tight as they could. Mitch kissed the top of her head then laid his cheek on her hair.   
“Just as well we'd already decided what had to be done,” he murmured.  
Jamie nodded and pulled back a little to look up into his face. “Now we just have to carry out the plan. I wish we had a bit more time.”  
“The wheels of bureaucracy grind very slow, so we may have more time than we think. What's your financial situation?”  
They separated, Jamie sitting down at the console once more to bring up her online banking summary. Mitch whistled softly under his breath when she revealed her current bank balance.   
“That's impressive,” he commented, sitting down beside her.   
“There's more tied up in the books, this is just my discretionary account, what I use to fund the plane, personal spending, stuff like that.”  
“Wow. Is there any way it can be put into an account, or spread over several accounts for you to access without being traced?”  
Jamie shook her head. “I'd be better off clearing out the account and taking the cash, then re-depositing it somewhere else under another name to avoid detection. Anything else would be easily traced.”  
“Where's your closest branch?”

There was a branch of her bank in Hudson, so they drove there and Mitch stayed in the truck while Jamie went to withdraw a substantial amount of cash from her account. He hadn't parked right outside the bank, not wanting to draw attention to himself or the vehicle. That said he was within eyesight so that as soon as Jamie appeared, he'd be able to swoop in and pick her up. Half an hour later she was standing on the steps with a holdall in her good hand. Mitch tooled the truck up to the curb and she climbed aboard. Mitch immediately drove the truck away from the bank, trying to look as relaxed as possible, not at all as if a couple of million dollars was sitting in the bag on the back seat.   
“Any trouble?” he asked.  
“Not really. When I explained what I was going to do with the cash, the bank manager was eager to please. Plus I didn't close the account, so money will still be going into it, which kept him happy.”  
“That's cool. So now we have the cash, we have the plane...we just need a place to crash!”

They pored over the maps, looking at the entire west coast from Canada to Panama, picking the best spot to stage the next part of their plan. Rather than push their luck they were back in the air, cruising at thirty-seven thousand feet in a westerly direction. The flight plan lodged with the Columbia County control tower indicated they were heading to Boulder, Colorado. The reason given - to join the IADG at the Barrier command. Now they had three hours to plan their demise. 

Jamie laid out a schematic plan of the plane, highlighting where the transponder was located, along with the black box recorder. “We'll have to leave the transponder on until we get below radar height. The best spot to fly over when the transponder goes off would be anywhere heavily forested so it would be hard to spot wreckage from any air search. Once we're 'off' the radar, then I'll kill the transponder and we can fly anywhere.”  
“Downside?”  
“We'd be flying technically an invisible plane, not to radar, they'll still be able to see us, but won't know who we are or what height we're flying. The highest mountain range near Boulder is called the Flatirons, at eight thousand feet, so their airport radar is going to be set higher than usual, which is around five thousand feet. Normally, past that, we'd be picked up by Salt Lake City, but that's been evacuated and nothing's flown out of there for years. As long as we keep our flight level between those two we should be below radar contact. Without the transponder to give height, identity and location we should be able to appear to 'crash' somewhere in that area. Then we just need to find somewhere to land, because this baby will be sucking gas at a phenomenal rate at that altitude. We're not exactly designed to fly like a crop duster.”  
“So our options are to find something beyond the Flatirons.”  
“Yeah. Salt Lake City is an option.”  
“Not far enough away. Would probably be used as another base to search from, if someone was going to look.”  
“There's Blythe airport, easy place to land, relatively isolated, good water source, mostly agricultural, lots of trailer parks...”  
Mitch peered at the map. “No hangers, no cover, how the hell would we hide the plane?”  
“True, it is a bit exposed. Okay...but did I mention they are powered entirely by solar panels? And the town is practically on the banks of the Colorado River, so water is assured. It's warm, doesn't get snow, and hasn't had an earthquake in half a million years!! Of course, it is part of the Sonoran desert region so it's dry, with little or no humidity.”  
“So, that's Blythe. You seem keen?”   
“Given the choices, I think for the time being that isolated and unlikely are good reasons for choosing our base. If anyone thinks we're hiding out, they'd assume we'd choose a big metropolitan center to hide in. In Blythe, we'd be hiding in plain sight, so to speak. We can find a way to disguise the plane so it doesn't show up on any satellite sweeps.”  
“You've thought of everything,” said Mitch, leaning down to kiss her cheek.   
“Blythe it is,” she replied. Her control tablet started to beep. “We approaching Denver. I'll need to contact the control tower to alter our original flight plan to take in a scenic flight over the barrier. They'll probably think we're nuts, but that's eccentric millionaires for you.”

Their disappearing act was accomplished with the minimum of fuss. Jamie was able to override several safety protocols to fly that plane at a lower altitude, as well as fly it by remote once they were beyond the reach of Boulders radar. The transponder was shut off when they dived below the eight thousand feet threshold, the plane swooping over a thickly forested area that would have hidden a hundred crashes with little hope of recovery. They maintained their relatively low altitude until they were behind the mountain range and well on their way to Blythe, flying low over the mesa on the approach. The expanse of desert opening up around them as they landed, dust on the runway blowing up in a cloud when they roared to a stop before taxiing across the cracked and crazed concrete to the small collection of buildings, and one huge hanger, that comprised the Blythe airport.   
“No problem with the camouflage then,” Mitch observed as the aircraft slowly made its way towards the hanger doors.  
“Must be a recent addition, there was no evidence of it being here before,” Jamie retorted. 

There were one or two single-engine planes parked outside the hanger, and quite a few taking up space inside. Their arrival hadn't produced any alarm, sirens, or other attention, the sand and debris blown about by their engines quickly settling while the brisk wind swept the ground clear of anything unsecured.  
The heat blasted them when they opened the loading bay, despite being late in the year the temperature was hovering around twenty-four degrees Celsius, a lot hotter than they were expecting.   
Mitch instantly took off his coat and left that hanging over a railing before heading off down the ramp to explore, Jamie doing much the same before following.   
They stepped out onto the sand, and wind blasted concrete and surveyed the abandoned airfield.   
Yellow, sunbaked landscape surrounded them, the dark brown of distant hills a haze on the horizon. Jamie shaded her eyes and walked towards the tiny building that constituted the airport arrivals. The door hung open and she walked in, her feet scuffing through accumulated, windblown detritus of sand, plant matter, and other rubbish. Beyond the apron of sand were a small reception desk, an empty pamphlet stand and posters on the walls advertising the fun things to do in Blythe. Everything was covered with a thick layer of yellow grit, further promoting the air of disuse. Despite this, a small red light was blinking on the computer tower hidden under the desk. Jamie sat down and switched the monitor on, a screen separated into quarters appeared displaying black and white real-time footage of the concrete apron out front and other views of the airport buildings.  
“Hey, Mitch!” Jamie shouted to get his attention. He entered and walked around to where she was sitting.   
“Huh. Not so abandoned after all. I wonder who is monitoring this feed?”  
“We'll have to find out, or our plans are scuppered.”

The hanger had a neat Tonka toy that was used to tow the various winged craft out of the hanger to be parked against the outside wall. All of them had a fine covering of grit, indicating they hadn't been worked on for some time, and there was no evidence of recent occupation, no footprints or vehicle treads visible anywhere around or in the building. The fact the towing vehicle was still working indicated that at some time in the not too distant past someone was using the field, but there was nothing to indicate who or where they were now. With the hanger cleared they hitched up the plane and towed it inside, the hanger just wide enough for the wingspan. Leaving the handy towing vehicle inside, they drove the truck down the ramp and parked it before going back to close the hanger doors front and back. The truck was loaded down as usual with everything Jamie could conceivably think of, their latest run-in with the hybrid making the need for weapons and a fully equipped medical kit a priority. Not knowing what they might encounter she'd tried to anticipate.  
“Is there anything left on the plane?” Mitch asked jokingly.   
“I'll drive,” Jamie retorted. “...and you can literally ride shotgun.”  
Mitch climbed aboard, very aware of the gun now sitting snugly beside his left leg, plus the gun holstered above his head plus another secured in the door at his hip.   
“Expecting trouble?” he queried, putting on sunglasses over his specs.   
“Always,” Jamie shot back, grinning.   
They drove away from the hanger and down the long, palm-lined approach road. When they reached the highway they turned left. The first place they found to stop was a minute or two down the road, the Blythe Border Patrol station. There were a number of cars parked outside and a tall aerial with satellite dishes towards the back.   
“Could be where the airport feed is monitored,” Jamie suggested. Mitch agreed. They parked in front and got out, Jamie wearing her pistol, Mitch armed with the shotgun. The station had the same air of neglect and emptiness as the airport, a fine layer of yellow grit covering every surface and no footprints to indicate any recent activity. They searched the offices and found a room with several computers and screens, only one showing a light. Jamie switched on the screen and sure enough, there was the familiar four-part surveillance screen they'd seen at the airport.   
“Do we need to erase the bit where we landed and moved the plane?” Mitch asked, pointing his gun at the screen.   
“Possibly,” Jamie replied. She tapped away on the keyboard then sat back. “There's no recording, it's just a direct feed, so we're good.”  
“So we can destroy it?”  
“That would indicate to anyone taking a peek that there's something to hide out at the airport.”  
“Well...there is!”  
Jamie gave him a look. “Of course, but no one has been here in months, if not years, and I'm suggesting we leave it just as we found it. That way it just looks like travelers passing through, not that someone came in here and smashed the surveillance station.”  
“Fine. We'll do it your way,” Mitch grumbled. “How about we disconnect the antennae array instead.”  
“That we can do.”  
Jamie brought the bolt cutters and they severed the cabling to the satellite dish, making it look like the cables might have snapped in a high wind, or been nibbled by something. “I can always reconnect the cable if we need it at a later date.”

Back in the truck, they carried on down the highway, getting closer to Blythe. The next landmark was a grouping of large white buildings with set back from the road with power poles and attendant lines radiating out from the hub. They drove down the side road leading to the plant and discovered the Blyth Energy Project, a gas and steam-powered electricity producer, now unmanned and producing very little.   
“If this is shut down, where is the power coming from for the border station and airport?” Jamie asked.   
Mitch was reading an information board on the gate leading to the plant grounds. “It's supposed to be a solution for California's power shortage. Not for the locals, I'm guessing.”  
“Maybe they have a feed from the solar panel farms?”  
“Maybe.”  
They got back in the truck and turned around to go back to the highway. On either side, the land stretched away to distant hills, agricultural buildings spaced along the highway with rusting equipment standing in the yards. They crossed over canals that supplied irrigation, all fed by the distant Colorado River, the features competing with the avenues of palms, an exotic touch that relieved the endless flatland. 

The first building they came to on the outskirts of Blythe was a huge K-Mart store, the carpark empty but for a couple of cars with no windows or tires. Further along, they passed restaurants, hotels, motels, more palms, old and new signage, some unusually tall signs and more palms. As they came to the end of Main Street, the single level buildings showed that the town of Blythe had already been on a downhill trend before the evacuation, with all the businesses lining the highway boarded up and signs obliterated. With the population gone, the township only needed a couple of tumbleweeds to complete the impression of a ghost town.  
“Well, I'm depressed,” Mitch snarked.  
“It is rather grim, isn't it? But perfect as a place least likely for us to want to hide out in, don't you think?”  
“Ennio Morricone is playing through my head right now. Are you really okay with all this?”  
“Getting cold feet, Mitch?”  
“Hey, if we have power, water, and food, what's to complain about? If you think we can tough it out here, I'm onboard.”  
“Good. I think we need to get hold of a street map so we can plan a search pattern, see if there's anyone else holding out here, plus I want to look into a source of av-gas and look at where the potable water comes from.”  
“Just as well someone is thinking ahead. What can I do?”  
“Exactly what you're doing, Mitch. I'm happy with that.”  
Mitch snorted. “Then you are one easy woman to please. Maybe while we're here I can brush up on my target practice.”  
“I'll make you a crack shot before you know it,” Jamie teased.

They stopped at one of the many motels and raided their information on local attractions, a street layout map and anything else they considered useful. When they drove back through the center of town there was no evidence of anything living except birds, flocks of black feathered bodies perched on the powerlines, not moving, just watching.   
“Starlings,” Mitch stated. “With the ground and crops no longer being sprayed, they'll be having a feast on the returning insects, plus having the ready water source in the canals. Blythe must be a sought-after bird vacation spot.”  
“They do seem to be congregating on the power lines,” Jamie murmured, peering through the windscreen at the number of birds perched above them.   
“They probably roost in the palm trees. Sunset is the time to bird watch, when they fly around in clouds, a million birds swooping and looping in the air until they settle down to sleep. I've only seen footage of the phenomenon, I'll be interested to see it in the real.”  
“A million birds? That's a lot of poop.”  
Mitch laughed. “Yeah, not something to be viewed without an umbrella or from inside a vehicle.”  
They didn't stop on their way out of town, on the highway back to the airport. The wind, that had been so strong earlier, had risen even further sending drifts of sand and grit across the highway like mini sand dunes, blurring the edges of the road and obscuring any road markings. Some of the road signs were swaying back and forth, straw from the many stacks at the side of the road blowing across like a mini blizzard when they drove past. 

Jamie drove carefully up the airport approach road, not wanting to kick up a cloud of dust more than necessary or leave obvious fresh tracks for anyone to notice, not that she thought there was anyone to care about, but it paid to be cautious until they knew for sure. With that in mind, she approached the hanger from the rear, parking the truck next to the access door on the side to put it out of sight of the casual observer from the road, and hidden in deep shade from above. Like everything else in Blythe the truck was now liberally coated with a layer of yellow dust, making it blend in even better. With the strength of the wind, any footprints or evidence of either the truck or the plane were being quickly blown away. 

Climbing the ramp into the plane was wonderful. The interior was cool and the air free of grit, both of them shedding their outer layers, including boots and socks so as not to tramp it all throughout. It was also quiet, the hull insulating them from the wind making the roof of the hanger flex, and whistling through any cracks or holes it could find.  
“I'm starting to appreciate what we have here, more and more,” Mitch stated, flopping on to one of the couches upstairs in the lounge, his bare feet flexing against the carpet. “I can see Blythe being buried by the desert before too many more years are passed. Wiped off the map by the wind.”  
“Drink?” Jamie was behind the bar, inspecting the contents of the fridge.  
“Please,” Mitch replied, sighing. Jamie brought their drinks over and set them on the table, then she went to the pile of literature they'd garnered from the motel, spreading it out on the floor before she sat, Indian-style and started to sort through them. Mitch sipped his drink and watched her.   
“So why does anyone come to this Godforsaken blot on the landscape anyway?”  
Jamie laughed. “It's not that bad...” she saw his expression and smiled. “Okay, it is that bad, but we haven't been to see the Colorado yet.”  
“It would have to be something spectacular to lure me out here for a vacation.”  
Jamie was reading one of the pamphlets. “Apparently the population doubles in the winter from tourists wanting to wait out the northern winter somewhere warm.”  
“I can think of half a dozen other places I'd go that qualified at warm in the winter...Fiji comes to mind or Australia? Both of those have all the modern inconveniences.”  
“Not exactly where I'd go to be incognito. And you asked what there is to do here? Well, hunting, fishing, water sports, off-roading, hiking, sightseeing - all the usual things.”  
“I look out there and all I see is Tatooine. I expect a droid or a Tusken Raider to trundle out of the wastelands on a Bantha at any moment.”   
Jamie just shook her head at his flippancy and continued to peruse the town map she had spread out on the floor.   
“By the way,” Mitch asked. “What happened to the Star Wars franchise while I was away?”


	6. A Second Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch gets a headache and Jamie get a nasty surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains some of that explicit stuff the story is rated for. Ye be warned.

News of their disappearance and possible demise was newsworthy for a few days, a quick aerial search based on their last transponder signal turning up nothing, their personal histories flashed up the first day, they were largely forgotten by the fifth. More noteworthy was the news that scientists working on the infertility cure were just days away from creating a viable embryo, with human trials expected to start before the end of December. Mitch worried that Clem would be upset at his and Jamie's disappearance and want to initiate a search herself. Jamie reassured him that Abe had understood their unspoken message and would put his daughter's mind at rest. Jamie also assured him that her life hadn't been destroyed by being declared missing, something he worried about. She had put in place instructions for her estate, putting everything into a managed trust that put her continuing earnings from her book sales into funds for a minimum of ten years, regardless of rumors of her death. If she was, in fact, dead then her accumulated wealth was willed to   
Clementine, or equally between her offspring. They had seven years before either of them were declared legally dead and had no access to her money.   
“Until that deadline, I can access what I need online, so please, Mitch stop with the angst. Okay?”  
His response was to kiss her senseless, humbled by her love and generosity. 

They had several priorities to organize in the early days – power, water, food. As the power they needed was mainly to run lights at night and onboard resources, they were able to appropriate sufficient solar panels from surrounding properties, install them on the roof of the airport to supply what they needed. To provide contact with the outside world, they ran a cable from the border station aerial mast, which in turn boosted the aerial at the airport. Water was the next commodity, Jamie and Mitch driving into town and searching the local hire depot for a water tanker, which they found and proceeded to fill from various sources including the town treated water reservoir. A second tanker was found nearby on one of the properties, obviously used to supply petrol for their farm and home machinery. It was seconded and driven to the airport to be used for their truck. A septic tank company supplied the third tanker needed to empty the planes waste-water and sewage tank, something that was usually part of any landing at an airport. They were already near to the fuel dump at the airport and just needed to acquire a small electric forklift to move the drums to the plane for refueling. With them both still recovering from their injuries, all these tasks took a bit longer to complete, both of them working together to find the easiest solution when lifting or hauling was required. At the back of the hanger, they were accumulating a useful collection of equipment for any job that was required. By the end of the week, they were both starting to get a suntan, despite liberal applications of sunblock. Jamie developed a whole rash of new freckles at the end of the second week, her fair skin needing to be covered up most of the time. A shop in town that sold colorful cotton, silk and muslin tops and dresses was cleaned out of all of their size four range, giving her a wardrobe to cope with the extreme temperatures. She also took to wearing broad-brimmed hats, some with scarves so she could tie them on when the wind grew too blustery.   
In all their travels around the Blythe township they never once encountered another person, the town well and truly abandoned. They found animals, domestic cats, and dogs that were pathetically pleased to see them, their owners gone with no provision made for their pets left behind. Mitch was incensed and set up a feeding station near a water source, the animals waiting for him among the bushes and trees surrounding the canal. He checked as many as he could, using a local veterinary hospital, spaying and neutering cats and dogs if they weren't already desexed, euthanizing those that were too far gone to recover. Of the twenty thousand residents that would have lived there before the evacuation, which, because of their location in such an isolated area had taken nearly all of the three years allocated to do so, the pets left behind had died in their thousands, leaving only the hardiest survivors that now numbered barely in the hundreds. Still, it was a sizable crowd of animals that greeted him when he showed up in a truck taken from a local farm, complete with a trailer to carry the weight of food needed, most of it garnered from a feed supplier and a pet store in one of the malls. Given the age range of the animals, he expected the population to diminish long before he ran out of food. Most of the surviving cats already existed on rodents, reptiles, and birds, while the dogs did much the same. 

Because the town had taken that much longer to clear out, the goods and supplies were not all five years or older, as in other places along the west coast, supplies for the town probably flown in once the barrier became a reality. According to the local paper office, the hybrids had only shown up in Blythe a year ago, the harsh environment acting as a natural barrier to most. Only the Colorado River allowed anything to exist at all, whether it be a plant, animal, human or hybrid.   
It was always possible that any of the population that had refused to evacuate had simply moved to the next town, closer to the river itself, a possibility, but whatever the reason, they had the town of Blythe all to themselves. 

As days turned to weeks, they would take out a vehicle each to explore the outer suburbs, searching houses for whatever could be used, mostly tinned human food and any pet food that hadn't been ruined by insects or rodent activity. Some of the gardens around the houses were still producing fruit, some vegetables and herb gardens rampant with overgrowth but still supplying fresh produce. Each trip became a treasure hunt, some of the bigger houses with large trees surrounding them, now oasis for bird and animal life. Without constant watering, many of the plants around commercial and private properties had died and never recovered, the more deeply rooted evergreens and deciduous trees surviving while grasses, weeds, and shrubs shriveling under the unforgiving sky. Some had survived because of seepage from water tanks, swimming pools or storage barrels but most, without shade had turned to dust. And everywhere, the tall palm trees looked down and mocked the exotics struggling to survive outside their water supported habitats. The crops planted before the growers left had suffered the same fate, only those bordering the canals managing to survive, the same with all the plants apart from the many cacti species. Mile upon mile of flat, arable land remained empty, bordered by a fringe of green providing shade and shelter for the returning wildlife - mammal, reptile, and insect alike. 

Once their immediate needs were met, they decided to use some of their time to explore further afield. Mitch was keen to find and see the Hauser geode beds, where, according to the brochure, 'you can dig your own treasure out of the ground'. Jamie's arm was nearly fully healed and Mitch's hand didn't need a dressing anymore. They were going to go seriously off road with this expedition, so they went to the towns off-road dealership and picked the baddest four-by-four on the block. Their next stop was the sports store for a few necessities, the gun shop – just because they could, and a couple of places to top up on food and water. They also took enough to spend an overnight, the days considerably shorter and the nights dropping below zero, despite the still blazing hot days. Suitably outfitted they headed out of town, south of Blythe as far as Palo Verde, then followed the signs to the turn off which headed west on a dirt road that rattled the teeth it was so corrugated with holes. 

Mitch was driving, his attention focused on the appalling road ahead of them.   
“According to directions, there's about forty-five minutes of this, then it gets better, but also more difficult,” Jamie reported, hanging on as they bounced over a heavily ridged section.   
“You said it would be an adventure, and you weren't wrong. I'm just a little concerned my spine might be shaken apart before we get where we're going.”  
They endured and were rewarded with the road smoothing out, probably from the sheer number of tourists that visited. Jamie reported there were a couple of camps out that way, and further north, a couple of prisons. “If you ever felt the need to walk on the wild side.”  
An hour later they stopped the truck and got out, surveying the rocky field surrounding them. A crude sign a minute or two back had indicated they were now in the geode fields, the rock-strewn roadway leading them to where they were now.   
“We've got a couple of hours before lunch. Wanna try your luck?”  
Mitch nodded and went to the back of the truck, pulling out several digging tools while Jamie rummaged for the geologist's tool roll among the stuff on the back seat. Both were dressed for the conditions, heavy boots, heavy denim jeans, thick water and windproof jackets, gloves, and hats.  
“I can see where someone else has started to dig, I'll start there,” Mitch indicated an obvious dig into a bank of rocky dirt.   
“I'm going to walk about a bit and see what's on the ground,” Jamie replied, giving him a wave. Both of them carried a holstered pistol on their hip and a knife strapped to their lower leg. Neither was taking any chances with snakes or other livestock.

“Found anything?” Jamies asked an hour later. Mitch sat back on his improvised seat and pointed to a row of stones arranged beside him.   
“Got some beauties here, look...”He handed her a baseball-sized rock, one side cut away to expose the interior. Jamie turned it so the sun shone on the crystal structure, showing its depth.   
“Lovely. Amazing that such an ordinary exterior can hide so much treasure.” She stared at the striated crystals, their pale color in contrast to the orange rocks and soil around them.   
The sun was high in the sky when they stopped for lunch, sitting in the truck with the windows down. Mitch had his finds lined up on the dashboard, most still intact waiting to be opened to see what surprises they held.   
“Mitch?”  
“Yeah.”  
“We're not alone.” Jamie pointed and Mitch stared out onto the rock field, his eyes not seeing anything until the creature moved. “See it?”  
“I see it.” He watched the perfectly camouflaged hybrid approach where he'd been digging that morning. It sniffed all around the hole, raising its head to stare at the truck before moving again, its movements slow and deliberate. It was smaller than the original Pangaea razorbacks, a perfect color to blend in with the rocks around it, and seemed more cautious than the usual beasts.   
“Do we shoot it?” Jamie asked, bringing her pistol up but keeping it below the dashboard.  
“Given how well it blends in with the surrounding, there could be more than one out there. Let's see what it's going to do before we start blasting away.”  
After closing the passenger and driver's side windows, they watched as the creature padded towards the truck, choosing a zig-zag course in slow motion to reach them. They saw no evidence of others but didn't choose to trust that there weren't more lying in wait. The hybrid approached Jamie's side of the vehicle, its dark eyes darting back and forth, its ears lying flat then a moment later perking up as it moved ever closer. Its back, instead of being covered in spines, was ridged with leathery plates extending from the crown of its head to the start of its tail, a little like a pangolin. It was now directly below the passenger side window and Jamie leaned forward to peer down at it through the glass, only to lurch backwards when it rose up on its hind legs to bring its front paws to rest on the door, raising its head up to peer back at them, mouth open to reveal an impressive array of teeth.  
“Easy, it's just trying to figure out what we are – food or foe,” Mitch whispered, Jamie moving to almost sit in his lap with the creature looking back at them. A sound from behind made Mitch turn his head only to come face to face with the partner of the one on the other side. “Um...Jamie?”  
Jamie turned to face him and caught movement out of the corner of her eye. On seeing the second hybrid she scooted back to her seat, her head turning in both directions like someone watching a tennis match.  
“Mitch?”  
“We're still okay. They seem to be more curious than anything.” He reached for the ignition to turn on the engine, both hybrids jumping back onto all fours when it rumbled into life, both creatures backing away from the four-by-four, eyeing it warily. “I guess they haven't seen a lot of cars or people out this way before,” Mitch commented, watching fascinated as another hybrid appeared as if by magic, but in reality just making use of its perfect camouflage to get close to the vehicle.  
“Buckle up, I think it's time we headed home.”  
Mitch eased the truck forward, turning the wheel to bring them about, the desert hybrids following them, their long legs easily keeping up at a walking pace with the slow-moving SUV. Mitch concentrated on keeping them on the dirt road which this far into the field had a tendency to fade in and out. A snake which had been sunning itself started across the dust in front of them. In a move too quick to register, another hybrid, previously unseen, darted out from cover and snatched up the snake, eating the serpent-like it was spaghetti. Mitch halted the car until the hybrid got out of the way, then inched forward once more. Jamie was watching the others.  
“We have six on our bumper, some seem to be smaller, possibly youngsters?”  
“Or females. I'm not keen to start taking samples right now.”  
They bumped their way down the track, swaying and jostling as the wheels found purchase over rocks and ruts, the slow pace emphasizing each dip and obstacle in their path.  
“They seem to be pulling back...” Jamie reported, leaning forward to peer behind the truck, Mitch maintaining his unhurried retreat along the trail.   
“Maybe that's why we haven't seen any sign of them closer to town. They're adapted to the desert and prefer it to the easy living in town?” Jamie suggested, hanging on to the hand strap as they negotiated a difficult boulder slope.  
Mitch didn't reply, all his attention and focus on the dirt road. Only when it started to level out, in relative terms, did he relax slightly and pick up their speed to faster than a crawl.   
“I don't think we'd have so many cats and dogs still hanging around town if the hybrids moved in. They'd chomp the smaller animals up like biscuits.”  
“That's a horrible picture. So you think they're territorial and will stick to out here?” she asked.   
Mitch shrugged. “Possibly. We'll have to be extra vigilant now we know they're around and about. Maybe we simply haven't seen them, but they are there. Their camouflage is perfect.”  
“I noticed. Although they didn't seem to be as aggressive as those further north.”  
“I wouldn't take bets on that. We'll have to be more aware that they might be out there. It also means we will have to capture one to study it.”  
“Build a trap? I think I saw some large animal traps at the back of the hunting and fishing store. What would we bait it with?”  
“No idea. One of the pets?” He expected the punch in the arm and wasn't disappointed, Jamie rising to his bait.   
“Don't you dare!”  
The rest of the ride back to the blacktop was spent thinking up serious and not so serious ways for them to capture one of the new hybrids. Mitch was also thinking of checking out around the airport for any evidence of these new creatures. They had become complacent and that was dangerous, potentially deadly. 

They lay in bed, the covers thrown back to allow the sweat to dry on their bodies.   
“Merry Christmas,” Mitch whispered, his heart still thumping in his chest, his breathing labored.  
Jamie stretched against his side, her supple body melded against him, relaxed and sated.   
“I think you're a few days early,” she whispered back.'  
“Don't be pedantic. It's close enough. Did you celebrate Christmas, back before we started all this?”  
“Not really. Once my mom died, it was hard to get into the whole spirit of Christmas, ya know? My uncle did his best, but I felt I had little to celebrate, and the whole commercialism of Christmas kinda killed it for me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Then after you were gone, I tried to give Clem as normal a home life as possible, but she wasn't that invested either, having lost all her family in such a short time. It was a different world.”  
“I can imagine. My brain is still taking its sweet time to release memories of that time, but I don't think Duncan has any recollection of celebrating anything other than successes when something went right with one of his tech designs or chemical concoctions.”   
“Did you celebrate Christmas before...well, before you met me?”  
“I went to the faculty parties, was invited to pre and post Christmas parties at fellow lecturers homes, but on the day itself? I mostly ignored it.” His voice had turned gruff, and she squeezed him in a hug.   
“Then we can make new memories, just you and me.”  
Mitch kissed her head. “I'd like that.”

They drove the length of the runway and discovered tracks left in the sand that would fit the creatures they'd seen. Most of the tracks simply crossed from one side to the other, none of them heading towards the human habitation, but that didn't signify much. They drove into town and found the cages Jamie had spotted, packing several onto the trailer to position around the outskirts, not wanting to accidentally trap any of the cats or dogs living locally. To that end they used the known trackway at the end of the runway, placing a cage and loosely disguising it with rocks and dead brush. With a thorough coating of sand, grit, and dust, it almost disappeared, the trap set with a dead lizard and left. They both went into town to feed the pets, quickly mobbed by the dogs on their approach. They refilled the feeding stations and topped up the water trough, all the time keeping half an eye on the surrounding fields for any sign of the hybrids while acknowledging that it would be hard enough to see them under any circumstances.  
The animals seen to, they stopped off at the K-Mart store and rummaged through some of the storage areas for Christmas decorations, both of them taking to heart the idea of creating new memories of the festive season. Rather than go for a big tree, they chose a number of smaller table top decorations as well as seasonal linen and crockery. Mitch ended up wearing a pair of antlers, while Jamie changed her beanie for a red and white Santa hat. They pushed their ill-gotten gains out of the store and loaded them into the truck, laughing when Mitch held up a plastic sprig of mistletoe and stole a kiss before they climbed back into the vehicle and drove home. He actually had several sprigs that he seeded all over the plane so that Jamie never knew when she'd be ambushed for a thorough kissing, which often led to more.  
The next day was Christmas eve and they drove out to check the trap. Fresh tracks were seen all around it, but nothing inside, the dead lizard looking back at them mournfully, one eye hanging gruesomely from its socket. With a view to having a hybrid to play with, in the near future, Mitch worked on getting the lab fully equipped and in a state to use. He wasn't preparing to do a necropsy this time, as he was well aware the creatures would take a dim view of him killing one of their own. He understood their ability to communicate over distance, evidenced by hybrid and mutated animals alike, and given the hybrids hadn't actually attacked him or Jamie, he wasn't going to be the first one to shoot, so to speak. If they did capture a hybrid, he wanted to be able to take samples, x-ray the beast and do as much as he would with any wild animal before releasing it. With that in mind, he outfitted his lab accordingly. He also concocted anaesthetic to knock it out, the chemical composition coming as a surprise to him as it was clearly a Duncan memory, not his own, despite it having his specific chemical signature on it. Clearly, some things had been shared between the two of them. He wondered how things were going out in the rest of the world. Abe had told them the beacons were being activated across the planet in every conceivable country plus the IADG had a complete list of where they all were. If they had any competent analysts on board they should be able to find and neutralize the nests nearby from that information alone. They'd already found a way to make the spores inert, according to Abe, so it just depended on whether they could find a way to shut down the power to the beacons in time before they hatched. Even as he thought that a torrent of information flooded his mind and he staggered, his hand coming up to press against his head.   
“Mitch? Are you okay?” Jamie's voice seemed to come from far away, his vision blurring as the images and memories about the beacons overwhelmed him. He felt hands on his arms, leading him over to sit down, his knees buckling. No longer having to worry about his physical state, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the memories, slowing down their rate of emergence and attempting to put them in context, while the hands that helped him before were placing something cool on his forehead, fingers clasping his as he let the memories wash over him. At length, his eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes to see Jamie watching him closely, a furrow of worry between her brows.   
“Hey...” he whispered. “That was quite a rush...”  
“What happened, Mitch?”  
“I was thinking about the beacons, about how to shut them down and then this avalanche of information jumped me and I guess...I must have blacked out for a sec.”  
“Is there anything I can do?”  
“You're already doing it,” he smiled. “I think I need to go lay down for a bit, I have a helluva headache.”  
Jamie stood by while he got to his feet, swaying a little then finding his balance. His mind still buzzed with images and information, his fingers twitching to write some of it down. He slowly negotiated the stairs, gripping the railing tightly then tottered down the corridor to their room. Inside he toed off his socks before crawling on hands and knees over the covers to the pillows and flopping down on them.   
Jamie entered soon after and sat on the side of the bed. “I brought you something to drink. Takes these now, they'll help with the headache.” She waited for him to lever himself onto one elbow then passed him the glass and pills.  
“Thanks.” That done, he flopped back onto the pillows, his arm over his eyes. Jamie got up to dim the lights, then she returned to sit on the bed.  
“Better?” she asked softly, her fingers meshing with his free hand on top of the covers.   
“Yeah.” Mitch dropped his arm and looked at her under heavy lids. “I'll be fine...”  
“I know. I'll keep you company for a little bit, okay?”  
“Sure...” His eyes were shut now and he slurred that last word, his fingers going lax a few minutes later as he succumbed to sleep. The furrow between his dark brows smoothed out and she was able to take his glasses off without him stirring. She sat for a while longer, watching him sleep, her fingertips brushing back his unruly hair when it persisted in flopping over his forehead. Finally, she got up and left him, sliding the door to the room closed and returning to the lounge.

Once more seated in front of her bank of screens, she opened the Skype software and dialed up Abe, seeing he was online. She kept her camera off at her end in case he wasn't alone. Her icon and call name were anonymous so nobody would associate the call with her. When Abe answered it wasn't via the camera feed, but by typing and using the messenger function.   
“Hey, Merry Christmas to you.” Abe typed.  
“And to everyone there,” Jamie replied. “On your own?” she asked.  
“Not at the moment. You still safe and sound?” Abe asked.  
“Safe, sound and secure. Another day in paradise.” Jamie typed back.   
“C, S, and B are all well and missing you. C understands why, and sends her best regards.”  
“Send our love. What's the sitrep with the last situation?” she asked, hoping Abe would understand her shorthanded comments.   
“J is able to bypass the sonic pulse and approach them, close enough to attach a kill switch. Now he's all over the place, busier than ever.” Abe typed. “Hasn't stopped some from breaking out and wreaking havoc, high casualties on both sides.” He reported.   
“Sorry to hear that. I may have a new one to add to your collection. Working on it right now.” Jamie told him. “Keep me posted and take care.”  
She signed off, keeping connected as briefly as possible. It wasn't that she didn't trust Abe, it was more that she didn't trust the people likely to use Abe and the others to find Mitch. If they didn't believe the ruse of the plane going down, then they'd be trying to pinpoint where they were. With the software she had downloaded to her onboard server, they'd be lucky to find her by the time another ten years had been and gone. Her conversation, brief as it was, with Abe just highlighted what she was concerned about, that their friends were under constant surveillance from someone, whether it be the IADG, the Shepherds, the military or law enforcement. It would appear they'd need to stay off the radar for quite some time before the heat died down. It was just the two of them now. She smiled to herself when she considered that one of the first quirks that Mitch had let slip was his dislike of people, in the general sense. Well, they wouldn't have to worry about having too many people around them for quite some time. 

He awoke into a darkened room, the surface soft under him, only the faintest of light allowing him to make out his surroundings. His head was killing him and he dug the heel of his hand into his eye socket in a vain attempt to lessen the pain. He tried to remember, but his brain seemed wrapped in fog, his thought a jumbled confusion. He lowered his hand and encountered someone lying beside him. For a second he panicked and froze, his fingers held close but not touching the warm body in the bed with him. Recognition of his surroundings finally dawned and he knew where he was, still on the fucking plane, in one of the bedrooms, probably his own. Moving carefully he swung his legs over the side, his sense of balance deserting him for a moment, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress to keep himself upright. Bright spots danced through his vision and he was tempted to shake his head to clear them, but lucky for him he didn't, the smallest movement making him wince. Feeling slightly less likely to puke, he made to get up, bracing himself on the bedside table until he was able to push himself upright. That wasn't so bad, now to try for the bathroom. Putting one barefoot in front of the other he made it to the doorway, then through, shutting the door behind him. He fumbled for the switch, the light so bright he almost cried out, covering his eyes for a long moment until they adjusted to the screaming brightness. He squinted into the mirror, his eyes narrowed against the overhead light, his hand coming up to rub over his unshaven jaw. The image in the mirror wavered and he clutched at the cold edge of the sink to keep himself standing. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, most of the buttons undone. His skin felt supersensitised, the chafing of the shirt making his nipples stand proud despite the air temperature being balmy. He squinted at his reflection, swaying slightly, his head pounding out a drumbeat that he really wished would stop. If he was still on the plane, then it was likely the person in the bed was the woman, Jamie Campbell, and if she was in bed with him, she must think he was her long-lost love, Mitch Morgan. Only he wasn't, he was Charles Duncan, totally badass scientist and all around bad man, builder of diabolical devices that in the wrong hands could blow up a building or summon a plague of hybrids. He just couldn't remember very much of anything else right now. He recalled having an argument with Jamie, she was goading him, tormenting him with her body, trying to break him. She'd failed and he'd walked away, but after that....after that he couldn't remember a thing. Had she somehow found a way to switch him back to her lover? It would seem a possibility. His head seemed to be trying to knock some sense into him with its incessant pounding, his fists coming up to press against his temples, lips pulling back from his gritted teeth. He teetered and hit the wall, sliding down until his backside hit the floor tiles, strange dots floating in front of his eyes, the blobs mocking him in his pain. “Fuck off...” he slurred, falling sideways and narrowly missing the hard edge of the toilet before impacting the cold tiles around it and laying still. 

Jamie stretched and put her hand out, encountering an empty, rumpled bed. “Mitch?” Raising her head from the pillows, she saw the bathroom light was on. It was still dark out but she didn't bother with a light, just scooted off the bed and padded over to the bathroom door.   
“Mitch, you okay?” She tried the handle and found it unlocked. “I'm coming in...” she announced, pushing the door open. She saw his feet, then the rest of him. “Mitch!!”  
Bending down, she dragged him away from the toilet, then knelt down to put her hand either side of his face. He felt normal, not the horrible cold of before when he'd been taken into hospital.   
“Mitch? Can you hear me?” she felt for his pulse which appeared steady, his heart the same when she pressed her ear to his chest. If she didn't think otherwise, she assumed he was asleep, but why do that on a cold bathroom floor when he had a comfortable bed to snooze in. she folded up a towel and placed it under his head to make him a little more comfortable, but there was nothing she could do until he was conscious again. He was too big for her to pick up and lug to the bed, and she didn't want to drag him, so she settled in to wait. Her bladder nagged at her, so she went across the corridor to the ensuite there and used the facilities before returning to her vigil. An hour later and she was rewarded with a low groan announcing Mitch's return to the conscious world. She leaned over him when his eyelids fluttered and eventually opened.  
“Hey..” she smiled down at him but he didn't smile in return. His eyes narrowed against the light and he rolled to the side, Jamie helping him when he tried to push himself upright.  
“What happened?” he asked gruffly.   
“I found you on the floor. Do you still have that headache?”  
He nodded, slowly. He looked around the room, skimming past Jamie to the bedroom beyond.   
“Help me up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. Jamie helped him get to his feet, Mitch bracing himself on the wall. Once on his feet, he stood, panting, for a moment, his hand going up to cover his eyes.  
“I'll get you some painkillers...”Jamie said, going to move past him, but his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, gripping it tightly.   
“No. I'm fine. Just get me to the bed.”  
Together they made their way back into the bedroom, Jamie holding his arm over her shoulders, her arm around his waist. Above her head, Mitch, or Duncan as he was back to being, stared down at the top of her head, his dark eyes glittering in the half-light.  
Jamie steered him back to the bed and lowered him down. His hand gripped hers, pulling her down to sit beside him. In the light from the bathroom, she stared into his face.  
“Better?” she asked.  
He ignored her question, his hand coming up to snake around the back of her head, settling on her nape and drawing her forward until his lips met hers in a kiss. He pulled back a little way then licked his lips, his mouth pulling up into a crooked smile before his lips were back on hers, this time more forcefully, his hand holding her in place while his mouth devoured her, tongues tangling and teeth clashing. It was raw and primitive, shockingly exciting. He toppled them both back onto the mattress, his hands now bracketing her face, her fingers wrapping around his wrists as he ruthless plundered her mouth, stealing her breath and making her squirm against him. He pulled back from her suddenly, his face in shadow as he stared down at her, breathing heavily. His hand left her face and fastened instead on her singlet, pulling it up and over her head, not taking it off entirely so that it trapped her hands above her head. He lowered his mouth, engulfing her breast before narrowing in on her nipple, pulling it deep between his lips, sucking hard. A spark shot down her body from nipple to clit, suffusing her with heat. He started to tug her shorts down her legs, his movements jerky and rough, his mouth still busy at her breasts. When her legs were free his hand burrowed between her legs, the heel of his hand pressing against her apex, grinding against her while two fingers delved inside, testing her readiness. She squealed and bore down on his fingers to push more of them inside. Her legs were still draped over the side of the mattress and she wriggled to move up further on the bed. Her lover clamped a hand on her waist, stilling her movements.  
“Don't move!” he ordered harshly, his body lifting off her, still in shadow, to remove his own clothes before covering her again, his legs nudging hers apart while his mouth returned to her breasts. With her arms above her head, hands tied by her top, her legs drawn up and splayed, she felt like a sacrifice displayed on an altar, her back arching when her lover placed himself at the entrance to her body and plunged in. For a second he paused to enjoy the feeling of being seated fully inside her, then he moved and they both moaned at the pull and slide of friction, his hips working forcefully to fill her completely with each thrust. He reared up, his hand on her knees to spread her impossibly wide, his face and body in shadow with the bathroom light behind him, his hands moving to grip her waist, taking all control away from her, setting the pace of his fucking, pulling her body down on him with each forward push. Jamie surrendered to his dominance, her eyes shutting as she concentrated on the feel of him filling her up, his hands controlling her body, the sound of his breath leaving his lungs on a grunt each time their bodies collided.   
Suddenly he stopped and she mewed in protest, only to squeak when he turned her onto her face, pulling her back so her knees now rested on the edge of the bed, bottom angled upwards. His hands parting the fleshy globes of her ass before he speared back inside her, the angle different and deeper. She tried to rise onto her elbows but a hard hand between her shoulder blades forced her back onto the bed cover.  
“Stay there!” His panted command sent tingles down her spine as he slammed into her from behind, hips moving back to almost draw him out of her completely before surging back in until they were skin to skin, joined as deep as he could go. After a few leisurely fucks, he started to pick up the pace, gripping her hips to hold her in place, his grunts getting closer together, the force behind his thrusts getting harder, stronger. Jamie could only enjoy the ride, loving his mastery over her, wondering briefly what had come over Mitch to want to play caveman so unexpectedly. She moaned as his body slammed into her again, his hand reached around to find her pleasure center and pinching it, her scream muffled against the covers as she came hard, shuddering and shaking, her internal muscles squeezing and milking him while he continued to fuck her, more slowly while she shimmied around him. When her orgasm was over, he was back to pistoning into her, droplets of his sweat landing on her back. Jamie pushed back as he came undone, one almighty thrust presaging his coming inside her, jerking against her bottom, filling her with his essence until he collapsed on her back, panting heavily. He stayed there for a precious minute or two then pulled out, both of them moaning at the loss of contact. He twisted and fell onto the bed, face up beside her, one arm flung over his eyes as he fought to regain his breath. Jamie pushed herself up sufficiently to roll onto her side, facing him, her knees drawn up. She could feel her heart still tripping, her insides twitching at the loss of his turgid length, her legs aching a little in protest at the force he'd used to keep her in one position.   
At length, his breathing evened out and he dropped his arm, turning his head to regard her laying beside him. Without a word he sat up, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his back to her. Jamie drew her legs under her and knelt on the bed behind him, a little puzzled at his behavior and mood. She put her hand on his shoulder only to have it shrugged off as if she was a fly.   
“Mitch?”  
The man she thought was Mitch let out a harsh laugh. “Nah! Wrong answer!”


	7. It's Just You And Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan takes over while Jamie considers her options

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well this chapter is why the rating was changed on this puppy. Explicit sex there is a plenty! Also, this brings everyone up to date with as much as I've written so far, typing the last word on this installment just this morning, and with things being what they are and the time of year, the next chapter may be a little delayed in making an appearance. That said, I am notorious for getting inspired and knocking a chapter off in a day, so don't be surprised if I prove myself a liar.

Jamie tugged at the restraint, testing it again. She was secured to the bed with handcuffs and a length of chain, one on each wrist. She was naked, a state that wasn't unduly worrying, but her shackles certainly were. It had come as a profound shock to realize that Duncan was back, that the rough sex had been with him in control, not Mitch. The only previous time had been before Mitch had returned, that version of Duncan, making love to her, not just sex, which is how she described their recent encounter. After he revealed himself to be Duncan, he'd tied her up with her own clothing before leaving in search of a more secure binding, arriving back with the handcuffs and chain. There was nothing she could do, trussed up as she was, to prevent him snapping the cuffs on her wrists before taking away the ruined singlet binding her. When she railed at him he threatened to gag her, Jamie preferring to glare her wrath rather than have a gag.  
Duncan had learned one thing from their fights previously, he respected her ability to take him down, which was why he took no chances. The current set up allowed him to secure her wrists before he unclipped the chains, allowing him to limit her movements and ability to fight back. At the moment he was in the bathroom doing something, she couldn't see what. She rattled the chains again and he appeared in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. After he'd tied her up the first time, he pulled on his jeans but nothing else, now he leaned against the frame shirtless and barefoot, jeans low on his hips.  
“How long do you intend to keep me like this?” Jamie asked.  
“Naked and chained up?” Duncan smirked. “As long as I want.”  
“It's going to get messy if I need a bathroom break...speaking of which...” She looked at him expectantly.  
“Yeah. Figured as much,” he drawled. He walked over to the bed, ignoring her still bound feet and approached the head of the bed. “Scoot down.” He waited for her to wiggled down the bed leaving her hands above her head resting on the pillows. As she fumed impotently, he released one wrist from the chain and quickly clipped it to the other before taking off the second chain. “You can lower your arms now,” he ordered, Jamie bringing them down to rest, elbows bent across her breasts. Without asking her permission he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bathroom, plonking her on the toilet seat before stepping back to lean his hip against the sink, watching her.  
“You're going to watch me?” she squeaked indignantly.  
Duncan shrugged. “Go, or don't go, all the same to me.”  
Jamie closed her eyes and drew in a short inhale then let it out slowly. She really needed to pee, so she kept her eyes closed and allowed her body to relax, releasing her bladder. She wasn't even this relaxed around Mitch, for heaven's sake, at least not in regards to going to the toilet in front of each other. Her needs met, she used one of her bound hands to pull off a length of toilet paper, having to do an awkward kind of bending squat to move her bound legs apart wide enough to wipe. That done she tossed the tissue in the bowl and lowered the lid, sitting down again before flushing. Only then did she turn her attention back to the man watching her.  
“Now what?” she asked. He bared his teeth in a grin.  
“Now we take a shower.”  
Jamie stared at him. “We?” But her question was already being answered by Duncan pushing his jeans down to his ankles and kicking them off. He reached into the cubicle and turned on the water, testing the temperature a couple of times until he was happy with it.  
“This is ridiculous,” Jamie protested, attempting to stand up. Duncan ignored her and picked her up again, carrying her across to the shower and setting her on her feet with a thump. Then he entered behind her, the cubicle big enough to allow them some space but not much. Jamie was directly under the flow of water, her hair quickly covering her face, her bound hand resting against the wall of the shower as she leaned forward to escape the deluge. Inadvertently this pushed her rump backward into the man standing behind her, his erection finding a happy home between her nether cheeks. Jamie gasped, inhaling a mouthful of water and tried to move forward but two soapy hands came around the front of her and clamped over her breasts, keeping her from moving. At the same moment, Duncan started to move his hips, dragging his cock up and down her crack, lubricated by the water and soapy bubbles. Jamie was helpless to stop him and the longer it went on, the less she wanted him to stop.  
His soapy hands moved from the subtle massage of her breasts to stroking all over her torso, around to her back and shoulders, then back to her breasts, the slip of the soap over her skin making her push back against him, her hips gyrating from side to side while he continued to stroke himself up and down between her cheeks. Jamie was starting to have difficulty breathing, panting as the friction changed, Duncan pulling back to allow his cock to stroke further down until it slipped into the gap between her thighs, rubbing against her folds, slick and hot and harder than steel. The head would reach the front then pull back, catching the hood of her clitoris, making the small nubbing swell and sensitize from the constant stimulus. Jamie moved in counterpoint, increasing the pace, his broad hands continuing their smoothing and manhandling all over her slippery body, even reaching down to slip between her thighs, opening her further, before pulling back to tease her navel, the other hand finding a nipple and pinching it. She was in a frenzy of want, her body squirming to bring his cock close to her opening, willing it to find her and fill her, his hands driving her mad as they teased, at one point reaching for her hands to lift them above her head, the cuffs clinking together, stretching her upwards while his hands massaged her breasts, palms brushing over the hard nipples.  
She cried out in protest when he stopped moving and pulled back, leaving her stretched out and quivering, her overloaded brain only registering that he had freed her ankles when his knee pushed her legs apart, his hands clasping her backside as he surged upwards to bury himself inside her dripping body. Jamie squealed, the sound high pitched and wavering, his hips pulling back only to slam into her again, her pleasure center squeezing him rhythmically even as she humped back against him. His arms came around her to lift her and plaster her back against his chest, his hips thrusting upwards, almost lifting her off her tip-toes each time, her lips releasing a continuous litany of moans. He picked up his speed, his mouth latching on to her freckled shoulder and sucking hard as she climaxed around him, quivering in his arms, her internal muscles rippling up and down his shaft. He stilled his movements while she slumped bonelessly against him, but soon he started to move again, his hot breath against her neck as he pumped into her, reaching his zenith within seconds, jerking against her back while the water sluiced over them both, washing it all away. He continued to hold her plastered against his chest until he slipped from her body, then he let her go and stepped back and out of the shower, leaving her alone.  
On shaky legs, she cleaned herself up and switched off the water, standing there a long moment simply resting her hot face against the cooler tiles before summoning the energy to step out into the bathroom. Duncan was already pulling up his jeans, and glasses, bending down to throw a damp towel at her when she emerged.  
“Get dry,” he growled at her, not meeting her eyes. He seemed to be staring at the floor and she glanced down, realizing that he was actually looking at her mutilated foot with its missing big toe.  
“Frostbite,” she explained, not looking at him but doing her best to dry herself with hands tied together. She did her hair last, the shorter strands fluffing out around her head and drying quickly.  
When she dropped the towel he moved to pick her up, as he'd done before.  
“I can walk on it, you know.”  
“I know,” he retorted, picking her up anyway. If he wanted to carry her, she wasn't about to make any further complaint. In a move that surprised even herself, she lifted her bound hands over his head so they rested behind his neck, her arms across his shoulders. He paused to meet her eyes, clearly questioning her.  
“It's more comfortable for both of us, this way,” she explained. It also brought them flush against each other, her breast against his bare chest, her position more upright so that she could watch his profile as he carried her out of the bedroom, along the corridor and into the kitchen-lounge area.  
He set her down in one of the chairs and she lifted her arms back over his head. Before she could protest he had a cord around her ankles, securing them once more. He darted back before she could even think of bringing her shackled wrists down on his head. Instead, they stayed resting on her thighs, her fingers closed into fists. She looked at him accusingly.  
“I can't trust you not to try and escape,” he rumbled, turning away and walking around the bar to the kitchen area. Jamie laughed.  
“You obviously haven't taken the time to look outside, beyond the hanger. Can't you access Mitch's memories of this place?”  
He shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Only bits and pieces. Where are we?”  
Jamie stared at the filtered sunlight, from the hangers clearlight panels in the roof, pouring through the plane's windows. “Blythe, California in the Colorado River Valley, part of the Sonora desert region.”  
Duncan grunted. “And we're here why?” He walked around the end of the bar with a tray in his hands, a plate and glass on it which he set down on the small table beside her chair. Jamie deliberately didn't make any move, her hands resting relaxed and still in her lap. He glanced warily at her then moved away, back to the kitchen.  
“We're here because nobody else is,” she replied cryptically. She lifted the glass with both hands and drank down the chilled water. Then she picked up the sandwich and lifted that two-handed to her mouth, her appetite ravenous. Duncan drank his own down in several gulps, watching her eat.  
“So, we're hiding out,” he stated, noting the way Jamie paused in her meal, then resumed moments later.  
He watched her finish the sandwich and lick her fingers to clean off any crumbs. Keeping her without clothes was both the best and worst idea he'd ever had. He had decided to keep her that way to help immure himself to her allure, in the faint hope that seeing her like this would lessen her appeal, that seeing her breasts, her body, would become nothing to get him all excited. He wondered when that would happen, because right now he was sporting a steel bar in his jeans. 

Jamie watched him prowl around the cabin, her lips pressed together to keep from making any comments. It was proving harder than she'd expected. Obviously, the cascade of information that Mitch had experienced had caused Duncan to resurface, somehow. Some switch in the man's head had toggled during the head rush and shut Mitch down, reviving Duncan to run the show while Mitch...rested? repaired? reinvented himself? She knew little enough about the brain, and there was no one she could consult about it. How long Duncan would remain was unknown, how to stop him returning was also an unknown, how to trigger Mitch's return yet another, although it had been mind-blowing sex that caused the grand-mal seizure the first time, so maybe that was an option to explore? She was slightly bothered by the fact that sex with Duncan was nearly as good as sex with Mitch, both personalities having their strong points, both ticking all her boxes when it came to a competent and compatible sexual partner. It was a conundrum.  
All this thinking about sex was getting her wet and she could feel her folds getting slippery when she rubbed her thighs together. 

Duncan stared out the window at the hanger walls, noting the strong sunlight outside, leaving bright strips of light around door frames and the bottom of the main roller door. He stood with his hands braced either side of the window, leaning his weight on his outstretched arms, doing his best to will his erection away. He glanced down and grimaced. Well, that didn't work. Pushing himself off from the wall he started to pace once more across the carpet, glancing at Jamie as he passed. She was looking off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him, that fact alone making him narrow his eyes and stop his march across the floor. Resting his hands on his hips he stared at her. She turned her head and met his gaze, her eyes widening as they clashed, hers the first to dart away, but not before they fixed on his crotch and the evident bulge behind his zipper.  
So that was the way of it. He smiled.  
Jamie wondered where he'd gone. One minute he'd been watching her like a weasel watches a rabbit, the next he was walking out of the room with a word. Maybe he'd just gone to the bathroom or something like that. She tested the rope keeping her ankles together, moving her legs up and down to see if she could loosen the knot. Despite her efforts, the knot remained knotted. She tried to get herself upright, using her hands on the arm of the chair to steady herself, but she only got so far before toppling backward, her body bouncing a little when she hit the cushions. Her hair had fallen onto her face and she huffed to blow it out of her eyes. At that moment Duncan appeared again, his hand carrying a length of rope with a carabiner spliced on each end.  
“What is that for?” she asked, shrinking back in the chair as he approached. He didn't explain, just grinned at her, grabbing the shackles and pulling her forward until he had his shoulder under her rib cage then lifted her up to dangle head down, her bare bottom next to his face. She 'oofed' when the air left her lungs, his arm holding tightly across her thighs as he carried her out of the room to another bedroom, different from the one they'd been in that morning.  
“What are you doing?” she demanded, grabbing the back of his jeans to steady herself.  
“Whatever the hell I feel like,” came his reply, his free hand slapping her bottom, making her flinch and squeak in protest. She was suddenly upended to stand on her own two feet, the sudden blood rush to her head making her sway. Before she could say or do anything her arms were above her head and the cuffs connected to a carabiner on each, the rope fed through another carabiner on the wall above her. It was like being on the bed, only she was upright, her back against the bedroom wall. She tested the rope, finding it was too high for her to get any leverage, but she was able to pull one arm down if the other went up. Duncan was kneeling down freeing her ankles, but even that freedom couldn't help her much, her range of movement limited to facing the room or facing the wall. Duncan slowly peeled off his jeans, kicking them away to the side, then he removed his glasses, setting them down on top of a chest-of-drawers. Finally, he stood in front of her, naked, his hands hanging at his sides.  
“What shit is this?” Jamie hissed. He made a move to come closer and she kicked out, her fingers holding on to the cord to lift her off the ground. He dodged and caught her leg before it could kick him, pulling her forward to wrap the leg around his hip. She flailed with her other but he caught that too, placing it on his hip and holding it there. Now she was hanging from her wrists, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she tried to pull herself up to relieve the discomfort. Duncan moved further forward, trapping her between him and the wall, his rigid cock pressing against her core pinning her effectively.  
“What shit it this?” Duncan repeated. “This is my version of fucking you seven ways to Sunday. We've already completed one and two, with five more ways to go.”  
Jamie bucked against him, her thighs squeezing him while her calves crossed to pull him closer.  
“So you do remember...” she murmured, eye closed to slits as she stared into his face.  
He reached around to grasp her buttocks and lift her, pushing her up the wall and taking her weight off her wrists. “I remember I like fucking you. It's still a novelty for me, one I intend to indulge whenever I please.” He moved, just enough to rub the hard length of his cock against her body, coating it with her slick lubricant. “I like how wet I make you,” he growled, moving again.  
Jamie gave him a thin smile. “You're mistaken, I'm wet for Mitch, not you. That's his cock you're playing with.”  
He bared his teeth at her, dark brows drawn together in a ferocious frown. “Bitch. I'll make you forget your feeble Mitch Morgan. If he ever returns you'll be wishing me back, filling you with my cock, my fingers, my tongue!” He eased his hips back to free his rampant cock from between their bodies, aiming at her opening and sliding home making them both groan. His fingers gripped her bottom with bruising hardness, allowing her little movement that he didn't control.  
Duncan kept his dark gaze meshed with hers, his hot breath mingling with her rapid gasps. Flicking a glance down he saw himself pull out and slam back in, dark against light, hard into soft and hot.  
“Still thinking of your Mitch?” Duncan rasped, his thighs cording with each thrust. Jamie could only hold on, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, eyes almost closed, watching him. She slowly nodded her head, deliberately baiting him. In truth, she had already come to the realization that whether it was Duncan or Mitch, they both turned her on as no other man had done before. She loved them both. The only difference between them was that Mitch loved her back, Duncan didn't love her at all, didn't even know the meaning of the word. Didn't stop him giving her the best sex of her life, his dark edges playing off her dark desires. He thrust upwards and she arched her back, the rasping hairs on his chest making her nipples so hard, sending spikes of pleasure to her core.  
“I hate you!” she cried out, her orgasm making her shake against him, the cuffs on her wrist rattling against the wall.  
Duncan paused, panting, his forehead resting on her collarbone. Taking one hand off her bottom, he reached up to free first one hand, then the other, Jamie falling forward to drape herself over him, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Still intimately seated, he walked them both over to the bed and lowered them down, knee walking a little before dropping them both onto the mattress, bouncing as the bed absorbed their combined weight.  
Jamie felt boneless, her arms falling to land beside her head, her legs releasing their grip only to slide down until they were draped over Duncan's thighs, his body snuggled cradled against her pelvis.  
“I hate you,” she repeated, this time in a whisper.  
Duncan didn't reply, just drew himself out of her until he was nearly clear, then slowly slid back in, filling her, their bodies so meshed together their pubic hair tangled, thick dark curls threading through short, gingery fluff. Both glistened when he pulled back a little way before sliding home again. He kept up the slow torture, rocking them together, his hands underneath her, spread across her shoulder blades, his hair roughened belly and torso providing a soft friction on her smooth skin.  
Soon his slow internal caress sent blood flowing back into her limbs and she raised her hands to stroke them over the muscles bunching in his arms, her fingers smoothing over his shoulders, relishing the feel of his back, burrowing into his wild hair to scrape her nails over his scalp. Still, he kept up his relentless slow pace, building the fires inside her, her legs regaining their strength so that she spread them wide and brought them up to wrap around his middle, heels digging into his back. He responded by drawing himself out slowly only to slam back into her, the force making her whole body shake, Jamie gripping him harder.  
“You won't break me...” She hissed, grinning up at him, his lips pulling back in an answering grin as he sped up, the bed quaking with the force of it. Jamie felt a blooming heat overwhelm her, her second orgasm deeper than the first, her body tensing as she squeezed him tight within her, a keening squeal forced passed her lips. A couple of strokes later and Duncan was shuddering his completion into her, his hips jerking unevenly as he expelled everything he had.

They stayed intimately connected until his body softened and pulled out of her, Jamie feeling the loss, feeling empty. Duncan unwound his arms and legs from hers and fell on the bed, rolling away so that his back faced her. Jamie lay staring up at the ceiling, her body still quivering in the aftermath, having no desire to move at all, just listening to her pulse thunder in her ears while she tried to regain her breath. With a lazy hand, she let it wander down her body, feeling her hectic heartbeat as it passed between her breast, her fingers dipping into her navel before reaching her damp curls. She let her finger slip downwards to her well-used opening and dipped a finger into the fluid slowly seeping out of her. Lifting that finger, she brought it to her mouth savoring the salty musk flavor that she knew belonged to only one man.  
A soft snore from her bedmate told her he had fallen asleep, giving her a little time. Keeping her movements slow she eased herself to the edge and sat up, holding on to the cuffs about her wrists to stop them clinking together. Getting to her feet she padded silently out of the room and down the corridor to her small arms case, which is where Duncan would have found the cuffs. Sure enough, the key was there and she quickly released herself, dumping the cuffs back in the drawer along with the key.  
Now she had to make a choice. Do unto Duncan as he had done unto her, or choose a different way. Trust had to start somewhere, with someone taking the first step. If she was ever going to figure out how to get Mitch back, she needed Duncan to trust her, and to do so she had to allow him to remain in control – of her, of the situation, of his choices. If she did the opposite, it could get very ugly very fast. She chose the former. Padding back to the bedroom, she climbed back onto the bed, avoiding the large wet patch they'd made, and lay down snuggled up against his back, her arm snaking around to his front, her legs tucked in behind him, with her heart pressed against his.  
Before long she was drawn into a doze by the sound of his breathing, then slipped into a healing sleep. 

He awoke with a start, his dreams of the little blond girl, his daughter, leaving him anxious and on edge. He'd been looking for something important to her, but it remained always just out of reach. It was still daylight outside and he sat up, memory rushing in, curses falling from his lips as he realized he'd left his captive untied. To his surprise and instant suspicion, she hadn't gone far, lying curled up beside him, currently fast asleep. He noted that the cuffs were off her wrists, so why was she still here? She could have packed up her gear, taken the truck and left him far behind. But of course, she wouldn't leave her Mitch behind. He shook his head, banishing the softer feelings that were creeping in, reminding himself that she'd said she hated him. Her lips might speak the words, but her body spoke a different language. Three down, four to go. Sunday was a long way off yet.  
Getting off the bed, he bent down to pull on his jeans, then snagged his glasses and pushed them up his nose. Padding out of the room, he went back to the kitchen and chugged down a glass of water, then another, the liquid soothing his rough throat. He threw something together to eat and took it down to the lab, interested to see what Mitch had been working on. While he chewed, he powered up one of the laptops, surprised when it opened onto a journal of sorts. He read some of it, realizing that Mitch had been cataloging and recording various memories that he didn't recognize as his own. Duncan certainly knew what they were about, but his nemesis was struggling to connect the dots. He felt an evil urge come over him to delete the whole file, but he veered away from that and simply shut the laptop down and shoved it away. Switching on one of the screens, he read through the most recent notes, Mitch's observations about the new hybrid they'd come across. Duncan was surprised to note that it wasn't one he'd seen or heard Abigail either working on or refer to. Was this a spontaneous mutation? A hybridization of an existing creature? Or something else? He heard movement upstairs, the sound of a sliding door then silence. Jamie must be awake.

The hot water cascading over her was heaven on earth. It not only cleaned the sweat from her body but soothed the aches and bruises that were accumulating. Jamie loved a healthy sex life as much as any woman, but three vigorous bouts in less than twelve hours was asking a lot of anybody, even one as enthusiastic as herself. Turning off the water she paused before stepping out, water dripping and running off her limbs, her hair, even her nose. Giving herself a shake she stepped out of the cubicle and reached for a towel. Dragging it around herself, she toweled off the worst of the wet, patting herself dry between her legs, careful not to abraid the skin down there, tender as it was. That done she wrapped the damp fabric around her chest and secured it, then stepped up to the sink to find a toothbrush. When she looked up after spitting out the last of the paste, he was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, arms folded over his chest, still only wearing a pair of jeans and his glasses. Their eyes met in the mirror and they stared at each other for a long minute, then Jamie finished what she'd been doing before turning to face him.  
“We need to come to some sort of understanding,” she said, betraying her nervousness by clutching at the towel where it overlapped on her chest. Duncan didn't move.  
“We do? Why is that?”  
“Because I'm not your sex toy. And there are things we need to do, out there.”  
“What sort of things?” he asked, still not moving, his expression impassive.  
“For one thing, there are animals that are depending on us to provide food and water for their survival. I can't and won't ignore them because you can't keep your dick in your pants.”  
Duncan lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I didn't set that in motion, so why should I care?”  
Jamie closed her eyes for a moment, tamping down her rising irritation.  
“You don't have to care, you just have to let me go and do it.”  
“Fine. What else?”  
“This plane has to be serviced regularly. The water and other goods don't magically appear, we have to fill the tanks, replenish the food, stuff like that.”  
Again he lifted a shoulder, apparently indifferent.  
“I didn't choose to live here. I'm sure there are any number of places that could provide a roof, a bed and all this.”  
“Not as comfortably nor as safely,” Jamie snapped. “If you don't want to help, then fine, just get out of my way so I can do what needs to be done.” She made to brush past him, but he blocked the door.  
“Where do you think you're going?”  
She looked up into his face, seeing no trace of her loving Mitch in his expression or his eyes.  
“I'm going to do what I said before, weren't you listening?”  
“See, this is what happens when you give a bitch an inch, she takes a fucking mile. Do we really have to go back to tieing you up to get my point across?” He pushed her back into the bathroom, stalking after her, using his height to intimidate her.  
Jamie knew she could fight back, but that wouldn't do much for her campaign to make him trust her. Instead, she backed down, swallowing down her anger, and chose a submissive posture.  
“I'm sorry, please, I don't want to go back into the cuffs,” she backed away until she came up against the sink, her fingers clutching her damp towel to her chest. His hands came to rest either side of her on the sink edge, Duncan crowding her. To her surprise, he didn't rip the thin barrier of fabric from her, but leaned forward, the better to sniff her.  
“You smell good,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of her face, pushing to make her tilt her head up and back, exposing her neck. A sizable hickie was visible and he smirked to see his mark on her.  
“Why don't you go and get into bed while I take a quick shower, then we'll discuss terms.”  
Jamie darted a glance upwards, meeting his dark gaze with a wary look from her. “Look, I have things I need to do...” she started, but he cut her off.  
“Not a good start to negotiations. You do want to negotiate, don't you?”  
“Yes. If you're open to the idea?”  
“Oh, I'm open to all sorts of ideas.” He eased himself away from her, reaching to undo his fly.  
“I'll leave you to it,” Jamie muttered, then fled the bathroom before he lowered his pants.

The bed was unmade, so she spent a few minutes straightening it before dropping her towel and finding a soft t-shirt of Mitch's that was like a dress on her, reaching to mid-thigh. She dragged a brush through her hair in an attempt to untangle it, but it just fluffed up around her head so she let it be. He'd told her to wait in the bed, but she chose to sit on top of the covers and draw her knees up. She knew it looked defensive, but she didn't care.  
At length, the bathroom door opened and he appeared, this time just wearing a towel around his hips. He ambled over to the bed, took off his glasses and sat down, swinging his legs up and crossing them at the ankle, his back against the pillows, arms once more crossed over his chest.  
“Funny, I'm sure I told you to wait 'in' the bed, and since when did I allow you to wear clothes?”  
“Look, you've had your fun, now it's time to....” she didn't get any further, Duncan moving suddenly to pull her legs forward, dragging her down the bed until her head hit the pillows, then he rolled on top of her.  
“Oh, I haven't even started with all the fun stuff yet. I like having a fuck toy to play with, and I want to fuck now.”  
Jamie pushed at his shoulders, her legs trying to come back up as his hands pushed the t-shirt up to her waist. “Please, no, I'm too sore down there...it'll hurt!” she almost shrieked, his hands stilling at her waist, her lower body exposed.  
“Then we'll have to play a different game,” he rasped. Bending his head he lapped at her belly, swirling his tongue around her navel. Jamie remained tense, her hand on his shoulders to prevent him moving further up her body. Contrary to what she expected, he started to move down her body, his tongue and lips sucking and lapping at her skin, playing with her belly button and lower. Soon he was too low for her to reach, her stomach muscles jumping when he reached her lightly furred mound, his teeth tweaking the hairs making her draw in a breath. He moved further down the bed until his head was between her legs, her fingertips combing through his hair as he tongued and lapped at her most tender flesh, her body already exuding her nectar, his tongue gentle and soft against her swollen folds. Only when he entered inside her did she jerk away and give a faint cry, his attention instantly veering away to return to where her legs joined her body, running his hot, slick tongue along the crease then back to smooth over and suckle her flesh. Gradually she relaxed under his gentle ministrations, her legs falling wider apart, her fingers stroking over his head rather than gripping the strands as she'd been doing. He looked up briefly, smiling when he saw her laying back, eyes closed, almost totally relaxed, enjoying his services. Easing his hands under her bottom, he angled her up so her entire genital area was accessible, including her puckered back passage. He worked his tongue towards her second hole, spreading her own lubrication to where she wasn't sore at all, her body showing its appreciation by producing more for him to swirl around her bottom, paying more attention to her rear, even going to far as to press his tongue against the darker skin, against the tight muscle preventing entry.  
Jamie was aware of what he was doing, but it all so relaxing and erotic she didn't raise a protest when he used a finger to brush back and forth over her tight opening, that same finger easing inside her, ably assisted by her own body's secretions. It felt different and odd, but not unpleasant, her hips moving as the invading digit entered her fully, while his mouth was teasing her clitoris, softly sucking and lapping while his finger moved in and out, soon joined by a second. She had never indulged in anal play with previous partners, but that didn't mean she wasn't curious. What Duncan was doing was not hurting, far from it, her bottom happily accepting his intrusion, the unfamiliar sensation marrying quite nicely with what he was doing to her pleasure center. Her orgasm washed over her very suddenly, her body jerking as heat suffused her. Duncan didn't remove his fingers, keeping them in while Jamie's bottom squeezed then relaxed around them. Her little gasping noises as she blissed out made him harder than ever, his pelvis moving to rub him against the towel he still wore around his waist. Keeping his fingers in place, he pulled back and rose up onto his knees, before removing the damp towel. Moving himself forward, he still moved his fingers inside her while he coated his cock in the liquid oozing from her body, glistening as it mixed with his own fluids, coating the head of his rigid flesh generously. He slowly removed his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, pressing forward against the relaxed muscle, pressing forward then pulling back, each time making progress.  
Jamie felt the unusual pressure against her bottom and opened her eyes to see Duncan looking down at her nether regions, focused on getting his cock past her ring of muscle. For a moment she tensed, then forced herself to relax. When she did that the head passed into her rectum and she gasped at the unfamiliar sensation of something so big pushing inside, rather than the other direction. Duncan continued to move at a steady pace, each thrust pushing more of him inside her until eventually he was completely sheathed in her bottom. He paused and sat upright, resting back on his heels, his head falling back on his neck as he relished the feeling of tightness and heat.  
“I might have found my new favorite thing,” he moaned, pulling slightly back before pushing in again, moving his hips back and forth in a slower pace, looking down at her body to see himself fucking her.  
Jamie, after coming to terms with the weirdness of what they were doing, started to relax and enjoy the different sensations being generated by her bodies reaction to the intrusion. She tentatively reached down her belly to brush a finger over her sensitive clitoris, that tiny organ slick with her own emissions and happy to be stimulated again. Duncan's eyes glittered as he watched her pleasure herself, his hands coming down as he leaned forward, to brace himself either side of her hips, his own moving to drag his cock nearly out then slide it forcefully in, to the hilt, her own fluids aiding his passage. Jamie pulled her knees back and tilted her pelvis, opening herself to him, Duncan responding by picking up the pace, both of them giving out small grunts and moans at the friction between them. His climax took him by surprise, his body shaking as he pumped his essence into her, Jamie only a little behind, her muscles squeezing him as she shimmied in her release. Both were left gasping open-mouthed as they floated down from their high, Duncan pulling out of her body with a sudden jerk and sitting back on his heels to recover. Once he could see straight, he clambered inelegantly off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Jamie lowered her legs and just lay there, every muscle in her body relaxed and shivery at the same time.  
Duncan was proving to be a paradox. One minute he was calling her a bitch and talking unceasingly about using her like a fuck toy, next he was making sweet, sensitive love to her, careful of her sore body, and preparing her thoroughly before taking her someplace she'd never been before. She couldn't make him out. He seemed to have Mitch's knowledge of how to make love, but couldn't bring himself to be less than a bastard in his treatment of her, sometimes. If it had been Mitch who just had sex with her, she couldn't have asked for a gentler or more considerate lover. But this was Duncan, who seemed to consider sex as his new favorite past-time and Jamie there merely for his convenience.  
Not that she was exactly complaining. Sex with Mitch was wonderful, he was always considerate, passionate and mindful of her needs. Duncan was rough, controlling but also mindful of her needs, somehow knowing that a little pain only increased the ultimate pleasure, his darkness calling to her, to something she kept hidden away even from herself. Maybe the submissive act wasn't entirely just for show.  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the man himself appearing carrying a cloth which he used to wipe over her bottom and genitals, cleaning her up, careful not to touch her sore areas. He performed the service quite perfunctorily, but she couldn't stop the look of surprise that painted her face, and which he saw. His response was to scowl and stomp off back to the bathroom, cloth, and towel in hand. Jamie watched him go, then rolled herself to the side of the bed and sat up, still astonished by his actions. Tugging the overlong t-shirt down she padded over to the sliding door and opened it, slipping out of the room, across the hallway to the other bedroom, there to use the bathroom in private.  
Duncan watched her leave, his expression pensive. Four down, three to go. 

The truck jolted over the well-used track to the feeding station, the trailer bouncing along behind. Jamie could see animals waiting for them, other keeping their distance as the vehicle approached slowly. Beside her, Duncan sat with a boot braced up on the dashboard, eyes hidden behind sunglasses covering his ordinary glasses. They had largely driven from the plane to the town in silence, Duncan apparently brooding while Jamie was glad to not be on her back for a change.  
He had surprised her again when she returned from the toilet to find him fully clothed, the first time since he's taken over Mitch.  
“Get dressed. I'm bored and sick of this fucking plane. You can take me on a tour of this paradise you and he are hiding in.”  
Jamie didn't need to be told twice and quickly dressed before leaving the plane, the truck already loaded with supplies and their usual necessities – weapons, water, etc. Now she drew the truck and trailer to a halt and got out. She recognized several of the animal regulars, some of them running over to be greeted, several approaching Duncan who eyed them with some distaste. But again he managed to surprise her, appearing around the end of the truck with one cat tucked into the crook of his elbow. His expression didn't change when Jamie paused to stare at him, just watched her haul a bag of kibble off the trailer, never once offering to help. Instead, he just followed her and watched as she distributed the food into the bowls and containers, the animals crowding around her legs and feet, more appearing as the minutes ticked by. His own companion he let down to run over to it's the closest bowl to feed, his hand gravitating to his hips while he watched the eager, but orderly feeding of the strays.  
“You know they'll all be dead if the hybrids move into the town,” he observed, apparently ignoring the few cats brave enough to rub around his ankles.  
Jamie looked over at him. “You know about the hybrids? The new ones, I mean.”  
“I can read. These new ones, as you call them aren't any of Abigail's design.”  
“Mitch thought the same. He suggested they were a spontaneous mutation in response to environmental pressures, to explain why they were perfectly camouflaged for this area.”  
“Mitch is an idiot,” Duncan retorted scornfully, happy to be able to disparage her paragon.  
“Then how do you account for them?” Jamie asked.  
“I don't have to, so I don't worry myself about them.”  
Jamie half expected him to stick his tongue out for emphasis. Sometimes Duncan's dislike of his alter-ego bordered on the childish.  
“Don't move,” Duncan suddenly ordered.  
Jamie looked over at him. “What?” Even as she voiced her question, the feeding station was rapidly emptying of cats and dogs, the animals scattering. Duncan reached down for the cat winding itself around his ankles, cuddling it against his chest as he started to back away towards their truck.  
Jamie started to do the same, not seeing anything but taking her cue from the pets beating a hasty retreat in the face of something that had spooked them. Duncan was already aboard when she reached for the passenger door only to be confronted by one of the desert hybrids standing only a meter from her. She froze, one hand on the door handle, the other hovering over her holstered gun.  
“What the fuck are you just standing there for?” Duncan growled impatiently, then noticed movement in the side mirror, seeing the camouflaged hybrid, its coloring blending in so well with the dust and dirt it was almost invisible against the muck smeared side of the truck. Not so to Jamie who was breathing fast, her heart tripping as she stared death in the face. Duncan either hadn't noticed the new scars she carried up and down her left arm, or he simply wasn't interested enough to ask, but she felt each one start to throb in anticipation of being ripped open again when the hybrid made up its mind to attack her. Their standoff would have to end within seconds, and she swallowed hard, tensing in preparation for fighting for her life. To her everlasting astonishment, she saw Duncan appear behind the hybrid, his movements slow.  
“When I have it's attention, get in the truck,” he ordered, flicking his eyes up to meet hers for a second before returning his focus on the animal in front of her. “Hey, butt ugly, come and check me out!” His deep voice drew the hybrids attention, the animal turning away from Jamie and following Duncan as he slowly backed away around the end of the truck, drawing it after him. As soon as the hybrid had its back to her, she scrabbled to get into the cab of the truck, locking the door behind her. She leaned over to look in the other rearview mirror, seeing Duncan appear around the back of the driver's side, backing his way down the side of the truck, the hybrid stalking him slowly.  
The cat that Duncan had carried into the cab started to hiss and spit on the back seat, its fur sticking straight up and its tail poofed out to the max. Jamie ignored it and eased open the driver's side door to give Duncan a chance of getting inside before the creature attacked.  
She flicked a glance out the windscreen and gasped. More of the hybrids were approaching, padding slowly across the open space, the truck surrounded on all sides. For a moment her voice deserted her, her throat closing up at the prospect of seeing him ripped apart in front of her eyes.  
“Duncan? Get your ass on board now...there are more coming!” she rasped, hoarsely.  
“What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do!” his reply came from directly outside, his hand already on the door to push it wider. “Get the fuck out of the way!”  
Jamie scooted back to her side just as Duncan flung himself into the driver's seat, the door slamming shut behind him. For a moment he sat there, his back pressed against the upholstery, then he slumped forward onto the steering wheel, resting his forehead on his arm draped over it.  
Now he was safely aboard, Jamie stared at the hybrids circling the truck. Like before they seemed more curious than hostile, one jumping up onto the bonnet, while another stood on its hind legs to peer into the cab, its breath steaming up her window as she stared back at it. Behind the others she saw one investigating a half-empty feeding bowl, the creature eating some of the kibble only to spit it out again, apparently not liking it.  
Duncan watched the hybrids, his heart thundering in his ears. He would never have pegged himself as the heroic sort, but seeing the terror on Jamie's face had prompted him to get out of the truck and do something, anything to save her. That his solution put himself in the same danger, only occurred to him after the event, making him curse himself for his stupidity. Now he was safe, as was Jamie, an outcome he was glad to be a part of. Like her, he was watching the family group of hybrids investigate the feeding station and the truck, none of them seeming to be hyper-aggressive like the original Razorbacks that they appeared to be a derivative of. Having seen them he was assailed by the same scientific curiosity that Mitch had shown in his notes, to find out more about this particular species, what was it based on, why was it here, why was it not so hostile to life as the other breeds had shown to be? The cat he'd brought on board was still reacting badly to the animals around them, hissing and spitting and arching its back despite not being able to see them out the back windows. A few minutes later it settled down, and he stared out the windscreen and saw nothing, no hybrids in sight.  
“Where the fuck did they go?” he turned to Jamie but she only shook her head.  
“They just...disappeared.”  
They stared out of the windscreen, the side windows, even out the back but there was nothing to see. The creatures that minutes ago had surrounded the truck, were now gone, blending perfectly into the landscape, invisible.  
Duncan reached for the door handle, but Jamie's hand on his arm forestalled him. He looked over his shoulder at her, her fear for him staring mutely back at him.  
“You stay in the truck, I'll finish up here. Honk the horn if you see them coming back.”  
He shook off her hand and left her sitting in the truck. He ran out the hose from the square bulk water container on the trailer and filled the various water troughs sitting in the shade of the trees. That done he refilled the food bowls and then returned to the truck. By now the cat on the back seat had settled down to wash itself, impervious to whatever its human companions were doing, or what was happening outside.  
Jamie still looked a little pale, so he didn't make any remark, just turned the engine on and tooled the truck around to leave, driving slowly to avoid kicking up too much dust. When he checked the rearview mirror, animals were already appearing to return to the station indicating more clearly than anything that the hybrid threat had passed. 

Back at the plane, Jamie remained subdued as they divested themselves of their dust-covered outer clothes, boots, and other gear before entering the body of the plane. Duncan watched her closely but didn't call her back when she went up the stairs to the lounge, leaving him below in the lab. His brain was buzzing and he wanted to write down his observations before he forgot anything, spending the next hour at the computer adding to their store of knowledge about the new hybrids. The cat, after making a thorough inspection of the lab and its contents, settled down on a seat and curled up, keeping the human company while he worked. 

Jamie poured herself another stiff drink, her close encounter with the hybrid leaving her with a severe case of the shakes. Added to her terror for her own life, was her fear for his – Duncan's. He and Mitch were starting to blur together in her mind, their behaviors in some areas not at all dissimilar, in others – poles apart. When it came to her, she was more confused than ever. She loved Mitch, had done for years, had wanted him back as her most fervent wish, and that wish had been fulfilled umpteen times over. Then she'd had the shock of her life to discover the man she loved, had longed for and found was, in fact, the villain she'd been hunting, that had eluded her best efforts to find. Now she was living with Duncan, having sex with Duncan, caring about Duncan until she didn't know what she felt any more. She had a horrible feeling that she was no longer regarding Duncan as the villain, the mastermind behind diabolical deeds and worse, aiding and abetting Abigail in her mad scheme. When she truly considered what she felt about Charles Duncan she shied away from giving it a name, ashamed that she couldn't hold on to her hatred or rage, guilty that she found him exciting and dangerous, that she liked what he did to her, with her. She felt like she was betraying Mitch in the worse possible way.

She filled her glass again and knocked it back, this time feeling the effects at last. Banishing all thoughts of Mitch or Duncan, to the back of her mind, she lurched towards one of the bedrooms, not caring which on, shedding clothing as she swayed along the passageway until she found an empty room and weaved her way towards the rumpled bed, leaving her only in her bra and knickers. Discarding the underwear on the floor, she threw back the covers and collapsed against the cool pillows, closing her eyes with a deep sigh. Sleep quickly stole her away before she had time to even think about it.


	8. Advance and Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan works on his agenda, Jamie asserts her independence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone.

She awoke alone. A quick check of the bedside clock told her she'd nearly slept the clock around, the plane dark and quiet beyond the sliding door. Feeling a strong call of nature, she padded to the bathroom, taking care of business before splashing water on her face after washing her hands. She peered at her reflection for a long moment, wondering to herself where the real Jamie Campbell was, and who the woman in the mirror thought she was, wearing her face. Everything was up in the air, untethered and a little unhinged. She ran her hands over her body as if she'd forgotten where everything was supposed to be, how it was supposed to feel. Nothing felt right, but it also didn't feel entirely wrong, just different, as if she'd taken a step through a mirror and ended up out of sync with all that she knew. It had all seemed too easy, so assured with Mitch, their future, if not mapped out, at least secure in their faithfulness to each other. Now she wasn't even sure of that.  
She leaned her hands on the basin and let her shoulders sink, her chin dropping to her chest. The return of Charles Duncan was playing right into the worst of her, bringing out all her bad habits and dark desires, some nobody had suspected she could harbor, except maybe Logan and even he had only scratched the surface. Being in love with someone was often more of a hindrance, that person wanting nothing more than to not hurt you, wrap you up in cotton wool and coddle you. She hadn't loved Logan the way she loved Mitch, but she hadn't shied away from using him, playing upon his affection for her to make him do things he wasn't entirely comfortable with. In the end, she stopped pushing, accepting that he wasn't going to do to her what she wanted, their relationship taking a sharp downturn from that moment on. He left her thinking she was devolving into darkness, not realizing that Jamie was simply being herself. Mitch had seen some of what she kept hidden, seeing the ruthless, unflinching side that appeared more readily after her experience in Brunswick. He recognized it in her, the same way that she saw something similar in him, in his brooding, his willingness to take on the guilt of the world, his self-pity and self-disgust, whips that he regularly beat himself with. His determination to hang on to old hurts – his father, Allison, his discredited scientific paper, making him moody, often sullen and frequently acid-tongued. To an observer, it would appear that Mitch was constantly fighting himself, fighting the desire to bring everything crashing down, as opposed to holding out for a miracle, believing in hope, believing in the people around him. He'd thanked her once for giving him a second chance at life. She could have done the same to him, thanking him for dragging her away from the edge of the abyss she'd opened up for herself, excusing her self-destructive path on her mother, Reiden Global, the animal pandemic, whichever was the culprit of the moment.  
Lifting her head she stared bleakly at her reflection, then pushed herself away from the sink and her thoughts, consigning them both to the devil.  
Maybe it was time she took some of the control back and worked off some of her angst at the same time. 

Duncan groaned, loudly. His dream was becoming more than just a fantasy, it felt more like reality, his finger grasping at the sheets as something, or somebody took his cock in their mouth and sucked, hard. Heat enveloped him, radiating out from his groin, wringing another moan from his throat as the hot wetness moved up and down his hard flesh, his hips moving to follow it. He opened his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The dream didn't end, it kept on going, the feeling of soft fingers massaging his balls, his perineum even brushing across his anus was all real, the head moving between his legs not bothering to waste time looking up at him, just working her incredible tongue and lips faster. He let out a guttural grunt, his head slamming back against the pillows as that wicked tongue dipped into the end, swirling around the head then sucking him deep between those stretched lips, his legs quivering at the sensation. Her hands were now spread across his thighs, squeezing the muscles as her head continued to move, her mouth drawing against his rigid length until he could swear that stars were starting to explode behind his eyelids, the tingle in his lower back presaging his climax. The fingers were back on his balls, cupping and stroking, that mouth working him deliciously, then he was there - he felt his balls tighten and he orgasmed, the hot wet mouth accepting his body's offering and taking it all, not letting up until every last drop was wrung from him, his slump back against the mattress her cue to finally remove her mouth from his shrinking flesh, a small kiss on the head his reward for performing to her expectations. He closed his eyes, panting heavily, needing to take a moment before speaking. When he opened them again she was gone, the room empty, his body splayed out on the covers, spent and sweaty. Used.  
Fuck, she was good.

Jamie laughed to herself as she dressed, happy with her ambush of the man in the other room. She hadn't given him time to respond or speak, just played his body in the time-honored fashion guaranteed to leave most men incoherent and content to let her work her magic without protest. 

When she left her room minutes later, she was once more the cool, sophisticated Jamie Campbell that sashayed through cocktail parties and ate critics for breakfast. Continuing her minor rebellion, she decided to check on the trap they'd left at the end of the runway, lowering the ramp and taking the truck out of the back door of the hanger, the sun not yet risen above the mountains all around them. The trip only took minutes and she stopped a few yards from what remained of the metal cage. Every wall was bent and twisted, the hinges warped and hanging off, the remains of the poor lizard trampled into the dust as if to show their disdain for such a meager enticement. It looked like they would need to rethink their strategy regarding these animals. As she sat there, the engine running and her freshly painted fingernail tapping against the steering wheel, she saw something moving, up in the sky. She squinted to see it better in the strange predawn light, a blinking light making her realize that a small plane was on approach to the Blythe airport. Her first instinct was to race back to the airport, but that would give the game right away, instead, she turned the engine off and played dead, hoping whoever was in the plane would assume it had been abandoned when the place was evacuated. Her hopes that the pilot was just checking the place out were dashed when the plane dipped and zoomed over her head, touching down soon after and coasting smartly towards the airport buildings. Their cover might work to hide them from satellites and a cursory airborne inspection, but with wheels on the ground, shortly to be followed by boots, their hiding place would be quickly blown. Turning the truck around, she slowly drove back down the runway towards the new arrivals.

Duncan heard the plane circle before beginning its approach. He dressed in a hurry and raced to the loading dock, calling out to Jamie. He cursed volubly when he saw the truck was gone, the loading bay closed. If he listened, he could hear the plane rumbling towards him, despite being outside the hanger. He yanked the armory cage door open and grabbed a shotgun, stuffing a couple of shells in his jacket pocket then into the gun, before activating the plane's ramp, Duncan running down it before it had fully settled on the concrete. He approached one of the small doors that led to the outside, peering through the dust-smeared glass, only to realize the new arrival was parked out of his line of sight. Cursing, he opened the door and sidled down the hanger wall until he reached the corner. The sound of another engine announced Jamie's arrival on the scene, the truck pulling up a few meters behind the aircraft. The twin propellers finally wound down and silence fell over the concrete pad. The sun was just topping the nearest ridge, illuminating the scene and raising the temperature, chasing away the chill of the night. The door of the airplane opened and swung wide, small steps pushed out to allow the passengers to alight. A casually dressed man appeared and stepped down, shading his eyes from the low sunstrike to look around the area in front of the terminal, such as it was. Behind him appeared a woman, similarly dressed, negotiating the few steps to join him beside the plane. Duncan watched as Jamie did likewise, getting out of the truck, her gun visible in its holster on her hip. 

Jamie approached the couple, her eyes searching the windows for evidence of more people still aboard.  
“Welcome to Blythe,” she called out, getting closer with each footstep.  
“Blythe? Shit, we are so off course,” the woman cursed, the man not speaking.  
“Where are you heading?” Jamie asked, her hand still resting on the butt of her gun.  
“Nowhere, at the moment. We have engine problems and we're short of fuel.”  
“No engineers, but we do have fuel we can share.”  
“Then we landed at the right place, after all.” The woman turned to look at the large hanger, the dilapidated buildings and general shabbiness of the place. “Don't get a lot of traffic through here, I guess?”  
“Not a lot. Being on the wrong side of the barrier keeps it quiet.” Duncan's deep voice drew their attention to him as he sauntered from his hiding place, the shotgun sitting facing backward on his shoulder, his finger in the trigger hole, but not against the trigger itself. “Which begs the question, what are you folks doing this far west?”  
The woman walked past her companion and approached Duncan, a swing to her hips. “We could ask the same of you?”  
Duncan walked past her. “You can ask, can't promise to answer.” He walked to where Jamie stood, turning to stand at her side and just behind her. The man came forward, his hand out.  
“I'm Jeffrey Sullivan,” he introduced himself. “We're....well, we're searching for someone.” He shook Jamie's hand then Duncan's.  
“Really? And who might that be?” Duncan asked, his drawl more pronounced than usual.  
The woman, who had been looking at the various building waved a negligent hand. “Do you live here? I mean, no offense, but isn't there a town or something?”  
Jamie raised her arm and pointed in the general direction of the Blythe township. “About five minutes in that direction. Enough motels, hotels, and K-marts to keep anyone happy.”  
“I don't suppose there's a spare vehicle we can borrow?” Jeff asked, smiling. Jamie smiled back.  
“We may have something you can use,” she replied, turning and tilting her head up to look at Duncan, who scowled, then shrugged, turning his back on the small group to saunter off in the opposite direction to the hanger. “He'll be back shortly. In the meantime, why don't we get into some shade, the sun can be quite hot and still burns, despite the time of year.” She paused and turned to face the couple. “Unless you want to wait in your plane?”  
The woman snorted. “I'll be happy to spend a little less time in that crate, so lead on.”

Jamie led them into the tiny airport lounge, scuffing her way through the windblown sand and grit still liberally coating the floor. The newcomers looked around the disheveled interior with poorly disguised dismay. The woman held out her hand for Jamie to shake.  
“By the way, I'm Cat Sullivan, Jeffrey's sister. Not a lot of resemblance, I know,” she laughed. “Same mother, different dads.”  
Jamie walked around the reception desk, putting it between her and them. “So you were going to say who it is you're looking for?”  
Jeffrey stepped forward and rested his elbows on the raised countertop. “Not so much a person as a thing, quite a few things. Is there anyone else living in town? Or is it just the two of you?”  
“There's a few others, we take it in turns to man the airport,” Jamie told him, lying through her teeth. For all his smile, handshakes and affable manner, Jeffrey Sullivan made her nervous. His sister, if that was what she was, made her more nervous. The sound of a car pulling up outside was a welcome relief. Jamie brushed past Jeffrey and went to meet Duncan, who was just getting out of the driver's side.  
“I've told them we're not alone here,” she hissed at him, keeping her voice pitched for his ears only. Duncan gave her a look then tossed the keys to Jeffrey as he came through the door, Cat behind him.  
“Runs pretty well, considering I'm no mechanic. The gas stations in town have petrol, but you have to hand pump it if you run out. If you choose to stay in town, make sure the place is locked up tight for the night. There's hidden dangers here, just saying.” Duncan walked around to the passenger side and pulled the shotgun through the window, holding it casually under his arm, the barrel pointing at the ground. Cat walked past him, peering into the car, her nose wrinkling at the dusty interior.  
“How would we find the other people in the town?” she asked. Duncan shrugged.  
“You won't. They'll find you if they want to be found.” He told her.  
“I'll go get our stuff and lock up the plane,” Jeffrey announced, Cat waving him off.  
“So. Are you two together?” she asked. Jamie and Duncan shared a look, then both shook their heads.  
“We just happen to be on the roster for today,” Jamie explained. “I have a place further along the highway.” she pointed in a vaguely westerly direction. “And he lives at the prison.”  
Cat looked gratifyingly shocked “A prison? There's a prison out here?” She turned her head to look around the abandoned airstrip as if expecting men in striped pj's to appear out of the ground.  
Jamie again gestured in a westerly direction. “About ten miles south-west of here, give or take. It was evacuated, about the same time as Blythe.”  
Cat gaped at them both. “But why would you want to live there?” She stared at Duncan as if he was mad. Duncan glared at Jamie then turned his attention back to Cat.  
“I can sleep soundly when I'm there. It's the most secure place in the state,” he informed her, giving her one of his smuggest grins. Jamie had to stifle a giggle. Who knew he had a sense of humor?  
Jeffrey appeared at that moment. “All ready. Let's go explore Blythe!”

Jamie and Duncan waved off their unexpected visitors, watching them disappear literally in a cloud of dust down the road to the highway.  
“Do you think they bought it?” Jamie asked.  
“Would you?” Duncan retorted, turning around and walking toward the hanger.

Once more on board their own aircraft, they put their weapons back in place then headed for the lab.  
“I went out to check the trap we set up at the end of the runway...”  
“You and Mitch set up,” Duncan corrected.  
“Okay, Mitch and I set up. It was completely destroyed. I have to assume the hybrids are responsible for the damage.”  
“That's a big assumption.”  
“You have another theory?” Jamie asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Are you absolutely sure there's no one here but us, and now them?”  
Jamie had to forcibly restrain from rolling her eyes. “We've been here a month and all we've seen are cats, dogs, birds, hybrids, lizards, and dirt. No sign of anyone else within a hundred miles.”  
“Have you traveled a hundred miles in either direction?” Duncan prodded.  
“Now you're just being argumentative.” Jamie got to her feet to fix herself a drink. Duncan approached from the other side of the bar. “Do you want one?” she asked, holding up her own cocktail. Duncan shook his head.  
“Not a fan of gin. Prefer a JD on the rocks.”  
Jamie pressed her lips together to prevent her telling Duncan that Mitch was a JD man as well. Instead, she poured his drink and slid it across the countertop.  
“Cheers.” She held out her glass. Duncan stared at it a second then tilted his glass to chink against hers.  
“What are we drinking to?” he asked, taking a sip and letting it linger on his tongue before burning a path down his throat to sit warmly in his stomach.  
“Surviving the next few days with a couple of bounty hunters in our backyard.”  
Duncan nodded. “So you recognized them?”  
“As they probably recognized us. In the years I was hunting down the Shepherds I rubbed shoulders with lots of people that polite society wouldn't dream of knowing about. Hackers, thieves, crooks, other hunters, especially bounty hunters. If we searched their plane, we'd find a file with our names and faces and a fat dollar figure printed beside them.  
“So we're wanted fugitives?”  
“In some quarters, yes. In others, we're missing presumed dead.”  
Duncan canted his head on the side. “There's that troublesome presumption again. You really are a novice at this game.”  
Jamie scowled at him. “I managed quite nicely without you or Mitch for a great many years, thank you. I don't need your fucking condescension, you prick. You don't know me, or what I'm capable of, neither does this pair of bounty hunters. If you won't help, then keep the fuck out of my way.”  
Duncan held his hand up as if in surrender. “You do what you have to do, sweetheart. Just remember – five down, two to go.”

Jamie sat on the top of the airport office and trained the high powered binoculars on the highway running towards Blythe. She had been at her station since sundown waiting for the bounty hunters, as she thought of them, to return from their exploration or search for whatever it was they were looking for. If her assumption about them being bounty hunters was wrong, they could just be plain, ordinary scavengers, picking their way through peoples houses, looking for valuable stuff, none of which would save you from a hybrid attack, or put food on your plate or keep you warm. They'd probably establish that when they returned, whenever that was. Duncan had let her do whatever she felt she had to do, not getting in her way or making any comment about where or what she was doing. Yet again, he'd flummoxed her by behaving against type, at least the type she knew which was impatient, rude, led around by his dick and patronizing as hell. In fact, today had been almost like having Mitch back, in sync with her, letting her do what she wanted, not interfering but providing support if needed. It was so uncharacteristic of Duncan.  
She saw lights flickering in the distance and adjusted the focus, bringing them into sharpness, obviously the headlights of a car.  
“Duncan, can you hear me?” she thumbed the switch. “They're on their way back.”

Jamie lay flush with the roofline, concealing herself from the approaching car. Duncan was out there somewhere, hiding out of sight like her. The hanger was locked up tight, inaccessible unless the intruders broke a window. The plane was powered down so no lights showed if someone looked through said window. For all intents and purposes, the airport was deserted.  
The headlights turned into the road leading towards the airport, jogging up and down as the car negotiated the bumps and potholes. There were only two reasons for Cat and Jeff to return – one, to get more stuff from their plane, or two, snoop around and see what was in the hanger. She took a bet it was option number two drawing the bounty hunters back. 

She was close enough to hear most of the conversation between the supposedly brother and sister when the car drew up below her. 

“Well, that was a waste of a day. There's nothing in that hick town but cheap motels and crappy shops. If there are any people hiding out, they're welcome to it. How soon can we get back in the air?” Cat's voice was shrill, her tone impatient with a dose of frustration thrown in.  
“Nothing is a waste, Cat. We know that there are at least two people in this shithole, and I'm betting they are holed up in that hanger, so quit whining and pull your shit together.” Jamie would never have recognized Jeff purely from his voice. Where before he'd been affable and easy going, now he was harsh and his tone biting. Jamie watched them go into their plane for a short time, lights appearing in all the windows, probably gearing up for their assault on the hanger. When they reappeared they were clothed in black, several holsters visible, both of them now gripping a pistol, holding it out in front of them as they ran across the concrete towards the looming bulk of the hanger. Jamie saw them slip around the side after trying the access door, her cue to climb down off the roof. Her feet had barely touched the ground before she felt a presence behind her. She swung around, thinking it was one of the enemy, but instead finding herself pressed up against the building, a hand covering her mouth. A simple inhale filled her lungs with a scent she was intimately acquainted with. The hand lifted and she drew in a sharp breath.  
“What the fuck?” Jamie hissed at him, pushing against Duncan's chest to get him to move back.  
They both froze when the distinctive sound of glass breaking reached them.  
“Probably the back access door,” Duncan grunted. They both sidled along the back wall of the airport building to bring the hanger into view. They could see lights swinging back and forth inside the building from the handheld torches. They'd disconnected all power to the hanger to prevent the intruders from opening the main doors front and back. With the plane locked up tight, there was little the bounty hunters could do. Sure enough, the torch lights flickered back and forth as those inside tried to find a way out or tested the light switches, searching the hanger for signs of life. The truck was back onboard the plane, so if they were looking for confirmation of the story told to them earlier, its absence went some way to lending credence to the pack of lies Jamie had fed them. Jamie and Duncan had gone to some length to remove any evidence of anything other than the bald fact of the plane and attendant equipment sitting inside a hanger with no power, no lights, and no people. 

Soon the torches were heading for the rear of the hanger, Duncan, and Jamie once more climbing onto the roof of another building to view what happened next. Jamie was oddly comforted to have Charles Duncan at her side, laying like she was, on her stomach, the thin blanket they'd set up there earlier in the day providing some comfort against the hard surface of the roof. Lifting their heads just enough to see, they watched the couple and their wavering torches return down the side of the hanger facing them, then across the concrete landing pad to their plane. Bits of their conversation drifted up to the pair on the roof. 

“So what now?” Cat asked, holstering her gun, her torch sweeping over the terminal buildings as she looked away from where she was walking.  
“They're not in the plane.”  
Cat snorted, loudly. “Genius, brother. So where are they?”  
“They say that in any lie is a little kernel of truth. Makes it appear authentic. They're probably holed up on a property nearby, we passed plenty that would be suitable. The fact they left without waiting for us to return means they expected us to stay in town overnight.”  
The two figures, outlined by the light from their torches, walked over to the main building and entered, finding that, like the hanger, there was no power. They spent some time searching it thoroughly before exiting and walking across to their plane.  
“I'm beat. We can go look for them in the morning,” said Cat, stifling a yawn.  
“Yeah. We'll do that. Come on, sis, you need your beauty sleep.”  
“Fuck you,” Cat's parting remark followed her into their aircraft, Jeff pulling up the steps and shutting the door behind him. 

From their perch on the slanting roof, Jamie and Duncan saw the couple moving about inside their plane before one of them started to pull down the shutters on the windows, cutting off the view inside.  
“It looks like our ruse worked,” said Duncan, turning over onto his back, his knees bent to keep himself from sliding down the incline.  
“For now. What about tomorrow?”  
“Worry about that then.”  
“I hate leaving the plane...”  
“It's not like they can do anything without power. You have the control tablet, the spares are locked away, the hanger doors are solid, what can they do? Let's get the hell away from here.” Duncan started to leave, slithering down the slope of the roof before reaching the ladder to the ground. Jamie followed, gathering the blanket into a bundle to take with them. She tossed it to Duncan then clambered down the ladder, Duncan taking that down, once she was on the ground, and stashing it out of sight. All of this was accomplished in silence, their only light source the blaze of stars arching overhead in the clear, desert sky. Without a sound, they jogged over the patch of scrub and dust between the airport and the Blythe border patrol station, their accommodation for the night. They were taking a gamble not keeping an eye on the plane, but the temperatures dropped sharply and it was December, the probably overnight low heading for two degrees centigrade, a good reason to get indoors and keep warm. They moved as quickly as they could given the lack of light, Duncan reaching for Jamie's hand when she stumbled, keeping her gloved fingers wrapped in his until they saw the border station walls ahead.  
Once inside they went to the back office, the windows already obscured to show no lights, their supplies heaped on the desk in readiness.  
“Christ it's cold,” Duncan swore, pulling off his gloves to set a match to the camping gas burner to heat water for hot drinks. Jamie was checking that all the windows were secure and covered before lighting one of the lanterns, a warm glow filling the room, giving the illusion of warmth. That done she went over to one of the inflatable mattresses on the floor and sat down, content to wait until the water boiled. The supplies had been put in place before Duncan's appearance, Mitch and Jamie setting up several 'safe' houses around the district to provide a bolt-hole in any number of scenario's.  
As their present circumstances precluded using a vehicle, they needed somewhere they could reach easily on foot, hence the border patrol station. Like all their safe houses, they were equipped with drinking water, sleeping, eating, and heating resources, as well as a small armory. It was likely that the bounty hunters would start looking for them in the morning, but that contingency was taken care of as well.  
“I'm turning in, we're going to be up before the sun tomorrow,” Jamie announced, draining her mug of hot coffee and setting it back down on the desk. Duncan was still drinking his and acknowledged her with just a grunt. For the time being, while they were under threat, they had called a truce and agreed to work together until the danger was passed or neutralized. Jamie erred on the side of waiting for the bounty hunters to simply leave and never come back. Duncan thought that wish was naive, already plotting how he would dispose of the bodies. For either plan to be realized, they would have to survive the next twelve hours. By then the decision will have been made. 

Dawn saw them back on their rooftop perch, the border station no longer showing any sign they'd ever been there. With the hybrids in the area, they had to be extra vigilant but so far seen no sign of the creatures. Now they stared down at the modified twin-engine Beechcraft King, waiting for the occupant's next move.  
Jamie flicked a glance at her silent companion. Duncan had reluctantly agreed to join forces with her, his demeanor since then one of largely silent support, not wasting conversation on her more than was absolutely necessary. Still, she couldn't fault him in any other way.  
The sun was just broaching the ridges when the man, Jeff emerged, Cat a few moments behind him. It was too much to hope they would discuss their plans in the open, the pair of them simply walking to the car and getting in without a word passed between them. Without seconds they were pulling away from their plane and the terminal building, heading for the road back to the highway.  
“Not gone yet,” Duncan muttered, watching the small cloud of dust until it hit the highway, this time turning right and heading away from Blythe.  
“Probably going to check out the service center down the road,” Jamie mused, turning to slide down the roof to the ladder. A hard hand on her arm checked her.  
“Wait.”  
She found herself not only stopped but pulled back to the roof ridge, snugged up against Duncan, his arm about her waist.  
“Look.” He pointed, she observed. Appearing out of the desert like a mirage was a group of hybrids, spread out like a hunting party, approaching the plane sitting on the tarmac in a semi-circle, the dominant male and female slightly ahead of the others. Individually, they were sniffing the ground and the air, chirruping to each other in a constant chatter, one cocking his leg like a dog to piss on the landing gear. The hybrid group continued their investigation of the plane, a breeze picking up a sweep of sand and sending it skittering across the ground.  
“Oh no,” Jamie's soft whisper was barely audible, but it didn't need to be. The leader of the pack turned sharply and stared unerringly straight at the humans on the roof.  
“Shit.” Duncan's expletive was terse, his eyes never leaving the dominant male who yipped at the pack who all came to stand beside him and stare up at the humans above them. The standoff lasted only a few seconds, then the lead hybrid loped off, keeping his pack members in the shadow of the plane, putting it between the humans and them. When Jamie lifted her head to see them appear beyond the plane, she saw nothing.  
“They've disappeared, I swear it!”  
“Maybe they have a burrow or some underground system of traveling,” Duncan murmured. They watched a few minutes more, in case the hybrids returned. When it became clear they were definitely gone, Jamie strained back against Duncan's arm.  
“You can let go now...” The instant the words left her mouth, his arm tightened further.  
“Maybe I don't want to,” he retorted, lowering his head and blocking out the sun. Jamie's hands came up to press against his shoulders, holding him back.  
“You agreed to a truce!”  
“I agreed to not fuck you until our unwanted guests are gone. Doesn't mean I can't do other stuff in the meantime.”  
Jamie looked up into his face. “What other stuff?”  
Duncan gave her a crooked smile. “Novice..” His mouth covered hers, tongue sweeping in to capture her's before she could protest, her hands no longer trying to push him away. He explored her mouth thoroughly, engaging her senses as he nibbled her lips, kissing the corners, drinking deep. When he came up for air she opened her eyes to stare up at him, panting to regain her breath.  
“I hate you,” she whispered, lips wet and trembling.  
“Good,” Duncan replied, licking his lips and turning away to slide down and get off the roof. Jamie followed more slowly, careful to avoid any contact between them. With the ladder stashed, they walked around to the front of the building to inspect the plane. Duncan tried the handle, surprised to find the access hatch unlocked. He pulled the door wide and lowered the steps, then moved aside.  
“Look's like you get your wish to snoop around.”  
“Are you coming?” Jamie asked.  
“I'll keep watch. Make it fast, they could be back at any minute.”  
Jamie scooted up the steps and into the plane, pausing to get her bearings. The interior had been modified so it resembled a spacious caravan with beds, table and chairs, a wet bar with a micro-sized kitchen, toilet and tiny shower in the tail section. Compared to the luxury afforded on her plane, this was a shoebox, but it obviously suited the brother and sister. Paperwork was laying on the table top so she sat down to leaf through that first. To her surprise, there was nothing there about her or Mitch, no reward posters or notifications that she could see. Whatever the two Sullivan's were up to, it didn't involve looking for the missing fugitives. A quick search of drawers and cupboards produced no more information, so she did a check to make sure she hadn't left any obvious sign of disturbance and hurried back to the hatchway. Duncan turned as she descended the stairs, shutting the hatch behind her, so the plane looked as it had before. He didn't ask her what she'd found, just turned to jog across the concrete to the hanger, Jamie behind him.  
They entered via the unsecured door at the back, broken by the Sullivans the night before. Jamie activated the ramp and they walked onboard, closing the ramp behind them. As was their routine they stashed their weapons and stepped out of their dusty outer layer before proceeding further into the plane. Their newest passenger was there to greet them, telling them in no uncertain terms that it was impatient to be fed, and didn't appreciate being abandoned so soon in their relationship. Duncan picked the cat up and carried it through to where they'd set up a couple of bowls to feed and water the feline, a litter box made available in the corner. Jamie wrinkled her nose at the smell of fresh scat.  
“What has that cat been eating?”  
“Anything it can catch, I imagine,” Duncan replied, putting the cat down and filling its bowl with fresh biscuits.  
“I suppose we should give it a name,” she said, watching the tabby and white cat eat its fill.  
“Already have.” He waited a beat for Jamie to give him the look with that one eyebrow raised. “Fucktard.”  
Jamie's mouth fell open. “You can't call a cat that?”  
“Why the fuck not? Seems to suit it. Then when I swear at it for getting under my feet...get out of my way you fucktard, it'll know I mean it, specifically, not just in a general way.” He managed to keep his expression neutral, relishing Jamie's shocked expression.  
“There is no way I'm using the name Fucktard to call the cat. It's ridiculous.”  
“Then you choose a name. I'll still call it Fucktard, regardless.” The cat was done eating and came to wind itself around Duncan's ankles, tail sticking straight up. “Eh, Fucktard?”  
Jamie stared at him for a beat, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Realising that arguing with the infuriating man was going to get her nowhere, she spun on her heel and walked away, Duncan grinning at her retreating back. 

While they waited for the return of the Sullivans, Jamie went to her room and plugged in her laptop. Although they weren't running off the mains power right now, that didn't stop the solar power from keeping the plane's batteries topped up. Just because the plane looked like it was dead, didn't mean it was, not by a long chalk. She did a quick search of the news bulletins, for anything that mentioned herself or Mitch. Apart from old news reports, there was nothing fresher than a month old. In other news, there had been some success in shutting down a few of the beacons, the article mentioning that a specialist was traveling the world shutting them down one at a time, with no mention of names or where he was now. Additionally, every city was on alert for hidden hybrid nests, initiating searches in and around any abandoned buildings or underground installations for evidence of hybrid activity. When she had exhausted the news sources, she started to search for anything on the Sullivans, which proved to be an annoyingly dead end.  
“Find anything?” Duncan's voice made her jump, she'd been so absorbed in what she was doing.  
“For fuck's sake, stop sneaking up on me!” she looked up only to feel as if the air had left the room. Duncan stood in the doorway, naked. Jamie stared at him, her eyes traveling the length of him, from top to toe then back up again.  
“You want to do this now?” she asked, her voice bordering on incredulous. “It hardly seems the right time...”  
“If you had your way, never would be the right time. I'm horny, so get your gear off.”  
“Charming. Look, there's things I need to do...”  
“Yeah, and I want to fuck you, so get with the programme.”  
Jamie closed the laptop and placed it on the bedside table. “Now look, we had a truce...”  
“And I want to fuck. Now get naked and spread those legs!”  
Jamie gaped at him, incensed by his crudeness. “Go fuck yourself!” Flushed with anger she swung her legs off the far side of the bed and got up, turning to face him, her hands balled into fists. Her reluctance hadn't diminished Duncan's desire for her, his cock standing at proud attention, his dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses.  
“Do you really want to go down this road again?” He asked, straightening up from the door jamb and taking a step forward.  
“I should ask you that question, given I beat the crap out of you the last time we fought. Do you really want to repeat that humiliation?”  
Duncan smiled broadly. “You didn't humiliate me, you just turned me on. I like a fight, it makes the fucking even better when you surrender.”  
Jamie glared daggers at him. “Don't you know any other word but fucking? For an intelligent man, you have a woefully limited vocabulary.”  
He shrugged, stepping further into the room. “Who gives a fuckity, fuck, fuck which word I use...screwing, humping, mating, bonking, coupling, intercourse..”  
“Shut up!” Jamie made as if to block her ears. “You're impossible!”  
“And you're fuckable, so get the clothes off and let's fuck.”  
Jamie reached the end of her tether and launched herself at him, fingers extended like claws, her teeth bared. Having lost her temper, as he knew she would, she was immediately at a disadvantage, Duncan neatly dodging her hands and flipping her with a judo throw onto her back. Hard. Jamie lay on the carpet, the breath knocked out of her. While she stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling tiles, Duncan took full advantage and rolled her onto her stomach to tie her hands, then her feet, before she could drag in a lung full of air. He stepped back while she lay gasping, towering over her in all his naked maleness, grinning like a madman.  
Jamie glared up at him over her shoulder, once she had her breath back, and tried to loosen her bonds, but as before, they were tight and resisted all her efforts to release herself. Duncan squatted down on his heels and stared down at her.  
“I'll just leave you for a bit to think about things. Don't go anywhere...” He stood up and sauntered out of the room, leaving his seething captive to glare at his back.  
“Bastard!” Her scream followed him down the corridor to his room. 

Mitch sat in a pair of boxer, in front of the bank of screen and watched the surveillance camera footage carefully. The Sullivans had returned and were standing next to their car, arguing. Several times fingers or hands were pointed towards the hanger while the siblings carried on their heated discussion. Mitch had already made sure that no lights were on inside the plane, just in case the Sullivans decided to revisit the hanger and inspect it again. On the outside, the aircraft still appeared empty and powered down, but inside the solar panels supplied a steady supply of electricity keeping the batteries topped up and the computers on. The argument outside appeared to be winding down, the Sullivan's entering their plane, but this time leaving the hatch open.  
“Very rash...” Duncan muttered. He continued to watch, the day well advanced, a low overcast keeping shadows to a minimum. Despite the black and white images, he was still able to spot the small movement of a hybrid approaching the car. He sucked in a breath, moving the mouse to start recording the images onto the hard drive. “This is not going to end well.” He momentarily thought of bringing Jamie down to watch but banished the thought. It would only upset her and add to her store of bad dreams. He leaned forward, watching the action taking place beyond the walls of the hanger.  
The hybrid appeared to be alone, but he wasn't fooled. It sniffed around the car, jumping up onto the bonnet and across the roof before jumping down. The sound of it impacting on the thin metal drew the attention of the occupants of the Beechcraft, Jeff Sullivan looking out before just as quickly disappearing from sight. The hybrid unhurriedly walked across the open space, giving the plane a wide berth as it headed out towards the runway. As it did so, Jeff appeared again, this time with a high-powered rifle in his hands.  
“Don't do it, you fool!” Duncan muttered, watching as the man raised the gun and fired. A second screen showed the hybrid stagger from the shot, but it didn't go down. Sullivan fired again, the second bullet sending the creature to the ground where it thrashed, its jaws wide as it sent out a distress call. As he watched the screen, Sullivan turned to speak to his sister, the two of them stepping down to the ground to go over and inspect the kill. Only, the hybrid wasn't dead. It lay there and waited for its killer to get close, Sullivan keeping the gun pointed at the beast, his sister standing close behind him. Unseen by either of them, the pack of hybrids had materialized, as Duncan expected, and were now between the humans and their plane, one even jumping up into the hatchway and disappearing inside. The hybrid they'd shot now lay still, while its pack circled and closed in on its attackers.  
Duncan saw Cat Sullivan turn and open her mouth to scream, her fingers trying to pull out the pistol holstered at her waist, but she was too late, a hybrid leaping and carrying her to the ground, arms and legs flailing. Jeff swung the barrel of the gun around, firing it from his hip, but he too disappeared under a pile of snarling bodies, the shot going wild.  
Duncan looked away from the screen, the savagery of the hybrids leaving very little of the Sullivans left when they were done tearing them apart. The injured hybrid rose to its feet and greeted its pack-mates, apparently not fatally injured despite the two shots at close range. Now they all turned to approach the plane, several jumping on board to join the one already there. A minute or two later they all jumped out, casting a collective glance towards the hanger before loping off across the concrete, passing the bloody, scattered remains and blending in with the dust and dirt like magic, soon lost from sight.  
Duncan switched off the screens and dry washed his face. It was a brutal way to die, but they had ignored his warning and behaved as if they were swanning around a desert resort, not deep in hybrid controlled territory buried far behind the barrier and beyond help.  
These hybrid were smart, well armored and camouflaged to the point of damn near invisibility. To let your guard down was to invite trouble, to try and take them down, asking for annihilation. Whatever Jamie and Mitch had in mind to capture one, it would be the last thing they'd ever do.  
While he, Charles Duncan, was in charge there'd be no attempt to corral, capture or anything with these creatures – they were too smart, too dangerous and designed to ambush you before you knew they were there. Lethal.  
His mind's eye replaced Cat Sullivan with Jamie Campbell, and he shuddered. If he had to keep her tied up permanently to keep her safe, he would do it. 

Jamie wriggled to turn herself over from laying on her stomach, to on her side. It wasn't a huge improvement but it did allow her to try and draw her legs up so she could reach the small knife tucked into her sock. She grunted as she twisted to bring her fingers close to her sock, the minutes ticking by while she tried to extract the blade without dropping it. She had managed to get it between her fingers when it was plucked out of her grasp.  
“Now just where were you hiding that?” Duncan asked, crouched on his heels beside her. She tried to lash out with her legs, but he moved and knelt on her feet, pinning them to the carpet.  
“Stop thrashing about, I have news.” He waited for her to still, her eyes glaring daggers at him.  
“What news?” she asked grudgingly.  
“Both of the Sullivans are dead.”  
Jamie gaped for a moment then snapped her lips together. “What happened?”  
“They underestimated the threat from the hybrids. Jeff took a potshot at one, then went to see if it was dead, Cat along with him. It wasn't, and its pack finished them off.”  
“Oh, my God. That's horrible!”  
“Why the surprise? You know what they're capable of, you bear the scars as do I.”  
Jamie shook her head. “Mitch wears the scars, you weren't there, you didn't sacrifice yourself for anyone.”  
“I still have to live with them.” He moved off of her feet, but before she could lash out, he rolled her onto her back to make it easier to pick her up. With a grunt, he hoisted her into his arms and stood up, carrying her out of her room and down the hall to his. There he deposited her face first on the bed, Jamie's indignant squeal muffled in the bed cover. Using the small knife she had so helpfully supplied him with, he cut off her clothes, the t-shirt, bra, track pants and knickers all shredded and thrown onto the floor leaving her without a stitch.  
“Don't you fucking touch me!” Jamie hissed, managing to roll herself onto her back, her knees drawn up protectively.  
“If I thought you'd stay put, I'd cut you free, but I can see from your expression you'd be off this bed and out the door before I could blink.”  
Jamie gave him a look. “Why don't you do that?”  
Duncan paused and stared back. “Do what?”  
“Let me go. Give me a head start, then you can come after me.”  
“What are you suggesting, exactly?”  
“I run, you chase. If you catch me you have your way, if I manage to evade you for...say...an hour, then I win and you wank off in the shower.”  
Duncan stood, hands on his hips and considered her proposal. “Simple rules. No clothes, no weapons, no going outside the plane, no drugs no cattle prods.”  
“Agreed.” Jamie moved so her bound hand were facing him. Duncan looked down at her bare back and then smiled.  
“You have ten seconds.” The blade flashed and her hands and feet were free. In a flash she was off the bed and out the door, Duncan counting off ten then setting off in pursuit, his boxers joining her clothes on the floor. 

Jamie raced down the spiral stairs, jumping the last few steps, her bare feet slapping the metal floor before she was off running again. She couldn't hear Duncan behind her but didn't take any comfort from that. He'd had plenty of time to explore the plane and many of its secrets were known to him. Her choices of places to hide were limited, but she'd do her best. Her best chance was to reach the truck bay and get into the ductwork from there. She crept up to a corner and cautiously peered around, catching sight of Duncan silently crossing the lounge, leaning over the banister into the lab below. As if sensing her presence, he swung around and she ducked back, sucking in a breath before backing away, then turning to run. With him blocking her access to the loading bay, she was forced to rethink her options. She could hide in one of the rooms, but that was limited. She ducked around another corner and flattened herself against the wall, thinking all the time. The cockpit was possible, but there was little there to hide her except a small cupboard. Easing herself to the next doorway, she inched forward, seeing movement coming towards her. Giving a gasp she backtracked hurriedly, her feet feeling slippery against the bare metal. She opened a door and slipped inside, pulling it to just as a dark figure turned the corner and surveyed the now empty corridor. Her heart was tripping double time, and she almost wanted to shut her eyes in a childish effort to hide herself from him. As the seconds ticked by she listened for any indication he'd moved on. Hearing nothing she slowly slid the door back, seeing the way clear. Stepping out she went to climb the spiral staircase again to the uppermost level but had only taken two steps when steel arms wrapped around her and she screamed in surprise.  
“Gotcha!”

Her body bounced when she landed on her back on the bed. Duncan hadn't touched her yet, only grasped her wrist and tugged her back to the bedroom, her feet dragging as she accepted her defeat. She shivered in anticipation, watching him pace about the room, one hand on his bare hip, the other raking through his hair.  
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “Trying to figure out which way to Sunday you're going to do it?” she taunted him. He couldn't deny his attraction to her, the evidence was sticking out hard and proud of his body. But still, he hesitated. She stretched out her body on the bed, her arms above her head, flattening her breasts, her knees drawn up, exposing herself to him, teasing him. “I know you want me, so why wait?” His pacing was starting to get to her. Drawing herself up onto her knees, she knee-walked to the edge of the bed. Duncan paused in his pacing and faced her. He didn't say a word, just stared at her kneeling before him. Jamie stared back, undaunted by his glare, feeling a power well up inside her. She'd proposed the terms, he'd won her fair and square.  
“Why don't you claim your prize? You won...” she held out her hand. Slowly, as if expecting her to bite it, he reached for her hand and took it. Like reeling in a fish, she drew him closer to the edge of the bed. When his knees bumped against the mattress, she rose up to meet him, her hands reaching for his face, pulling him down to meet her, his mouth covering hers in a slow, wet kiss. While his mouth was engaged, one of her hands found his erection and slid around it, squeezing gently. He drew in a gasp of breath, her finger wrapped firmly around his cock, stroking up and down slowly. Jamie started to knee walk backward, drawing him onto the bed, his cock still in her hand. She reached up to remove his glasses, all the while moving further up the bed, depositing the glasses on the bedside table with a clatter. They were still kissing, her hand holding onto his cock, anchoring him, forcing him to move with her until they reached the pillows. Jamie broke away from his mouth and lay down, her hand leaving his heated flesh to smooth over his chest and arms, drawing him down to lay beside her.  
“You hate me,” he reminded her, still following her lead, his head now on the pillows beside her's.  
In reply she ran her hand down his arm to his hand, bringing it to her body and between her legs. He could feel how hot and damp she was, his fingers dipping into the moisture pooled at her center. He leaned forward and capture her mouth again, her hands coming up to cradle his head, digging into his scalp and raking through his hair and over his ears. Her mouth was hot and sweet and he devoured her greedily. His hand between her legs dallied there, playing with the slick folds, a finger slipping inside her, probing and stroking. Jamie spread her legs, welcoming him to lay between them, his body fitting snugly in the cradle of her hips, his cock finding the entrance to her body and sliding home in one thrust, both of them moaning with the pleasure of it.  
He moved, drawing back before sinking into her again, his body braced on his hands, her legs lifting to wrap around him as they rocked together. He stared down into her face, his mouth open as he drew in much-needed air.  
“You hate me...” he breathed, repeating himself.  
“Does this feel like I hate you?” she whispered back, her internal muscles squeezing him. He leaned down and kissed her, rocking faster against her, drawing right out only to slam back in, his tongue mimicking his lower body as he plunged into her mouth. Abruptly he drew out of her, and she mewed at the loss.  
“Change of position,” he rasped, lying on his side, facing her. He pulled her leg over his hip and drew her lower body closer. Once more he found the entrance to her body and plunged in. While his cock plundered her depths, his hand smoothed over her hair and face, his dark eyes watching her every expression, the intimacy of the moment adding to his pleasure.  
“I want to see it all,” he whispered, Jamie holding his burning gaze with a heavy-lidded one, her lips curling up in a smile. He pulled on her leg, bringing her snug up against him, the wet slap of their bodies and the smell of sex layering the moment as his fingers found the bundle of nerves and circled, applying just the right pressure, guided by her response, to bring her to her peak. Her face flushed, the color sweeping over her neck and chest, while her eyes squeezed shut and she shimmied around him, clenching and pulling on his cock inside her. Seconds later and she started to come down, her body relaxing, from her delicate brows to the muscles in her thighs. He paused, remaining inside her, but not moving. At length, her eyes opened and she stared back at him, smiling lazily.  
“I hate you,” she said, her smile not faltering, her gaze still slumberous. He grinned.  
“Thought as much.”  
He rolled them so she was on her back again. Bracing himself once more on his hands, he pushed himself back into her, her muscles fluttering around him as he moved, drawing out only to thrust back in, repeating the motion, his back and buttocks working to bring his climax on. Jamie lay below him, her hands wrapped around his arms, hanging on while her heels dug into his backside to urge him on. With a deep-throated growl he surged forward and buried himself deep, jerking against her to pump his body's emission as far inside as possible. While he twitched in helpless spasms, he lowered himself to the side, still joined with her, but not squashing her. Her fingers smoothed over his face, tracing the outline of his lips, his nose and over his brows.  
“I hate you so much...” her whispered words made him smile, even as his eyes closed and he struggled to find his breath.  
“I hate you too,” he whispered back.  
Her lips were warm and soft when she kissed him, her tongue delicately tracing his lips before dipping into his mouth to play with his. His arm lifted to wrap around her, drawing her down to him, her body fitting snugly against his as if she'd been made expressly for him alone.


	9. Death and Deconstruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan plays farmer while Jamie gets a furbaby

The remains of the ill-fated Sullivan siblings were disposed off long before Jamie and Duncan emerged with the purpose of burying what was left. The desert fauna – rodents, birds, and insects had devoured everything, leaving little behind. Stained rags, gnawed bones and a few unidentifiable bit and pieces of organs and viscera, along with inedible items like jewelry, weapons, shoes, and belts were all that was left to scoop into a container and bury. Even their blood stains would soon be gone with the effects of the sand scouring the concrete. Jamie shivered in her coat as she stared at the plane, its entrance hatch still open, left unattended by its deceased owners. She sucked in a breath and stepped forward to climb the few steps to go inside. Unlike its previous occupants, she closed the hatch firmly behind her, not wanting to be surprised by a curious hybrid. Duncan would bang on the hatch when he had completed his grisly task.   
Inside the plane, it showed little evidence of being invaded by a pack of wild animals, the hybrids not interested in destruction for the sake of it, only a few scattered papers and scratches on the floor and furniture to indicate anything other than humans had occupied the space. She started in the cockpit, looking and finding paperwork and documents that she carried back to the main cabin to look over. There was little enough to be going on with. They were using their real names, they were siblings, and their flight log-book indicated they'd traveled extensively all over the United States, most recently hopping from one obscure airfield to another beyond the barrier, up and down the west coast. Their course had been mapped extensively, but who or what they were searching for would remain a secret known only unto themselves. Nowhere, in any of the paperwork, journals or books that she found, was there any indication of their motives, purpose or reason for their traveling. It appeared that the mystery would be taken to their dusty grave. A loud banging on the outside of the plane dragged her from her thoughts and she got up to open the hatch. Duncan entered and shut the door behind him.   
“Find anything?”  
Jamie sat down and waved a hand at the heaped paperwork she'd unearthed. “Nothing of any real importance. They were truthful about their identity, but I haven't found anything to tell me why they were here, or what they were looking for.”  
Duncan looked down at the stacked papers and books. “Well, we won't find out now. Let's pack it up, and move this plane.”  
Jamie rolled her eyes at his abrupt and not surprisingly pragmatic attitude. Charles Duncan may appear to be the antithesis of Mitch Morgan, but sometimes echoes of Mitch came through his terminology and attitude. Not dwelling and a no-nonsense approach was all Mitch. With the way things were going between herself and Duncan, it was hard sometimes to tell the two men apart. Despite their wonderful coming together only hours earlier, he'd still been unable to resist a parting shot of - “six down, one to go” before getting up to use the bathroom. She had ignored his crassness, preferring to stretch and remember what wonderful lovers both men were, despite their apparent disparities. Lines were becoming blurred, loyalties to one over the other irrelevant. If the worst happened and Mitch, per se, never returned, she could live with the Duncan version of his personality, as disloyal as that sounded. In a way she was luckier than most, being able to see both sides of one man's psyche, the best and the worst and all the shades in between. It was a rare relationship when both sides were completely honest enough to show their darker natures, their unvarnished selves to their lovers and partners as well as their more acceptable, loving and public personas.   
“Earth to Jamie? Are you coming?” Duncan's harsh demand snapped her out of her inner thoughts, and she jumped to her feet.   
“What's your goddamn hurry?” she bit back.   
In answer he pointed to a window. “That.”  
Peering through the oval window Jamie stared and then gulped. The mountain range had disappeared behind a thick curtain of orange fog. A dust storm would soon be upon them. 

Everything rattled, anything unsecured was banging about as the wind slammed into the hanger walls making them vibrate and shimmy, all the workbenches and metal shelving shaking noisily. Jamie was glad when they shut the ramp behind them, cutting the noise down to a distant murmur. They hadn't the time to move the Beechcraft or even tie it down before the storm was upon them, the wind blasting them with fine grit that would sandpaper the skin off you if you stayed out in it too long. After taking off her coat and boots, she stamped to remove some of the grit that seemed to have found its way everywhere.   
“I'm taking a shower,” she announced, padding off in the direction of the stairs, already loosening her shirt from her waistband. Duncan watched her go, for once not sending a sexually charged comment after her. He had to clamp his lips together to prevent any number of suggestive phrases from wingeing after her shapely bottom. This display of gentlemanly reserve wouldn't last long, of that he could be sure. Jamie was a horny little piece, and his own libido never stayed down for long when she wagged that tail and batted those lashes. Their last bout in the sack had been a bit of an eye-opener, bringing to the fore a number of issues that he felt he had to chew over before their next encounter. He had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Jamie Campbell was starting to get under his skin, her winsome ways and plucky attitude winning him over, making him think differently about her. She wasn't the enemy, not even an adversary, not even close to a rival. If he wasn't careful she would have him admitting feeling for her, a situation that couldn't be allowed to grow if he was to keep his distance, keep her at arm's length. If he didn't put her back into the category of simply a fuckable toy to pleasure himself with, then what was she to him? His patronizing condescension hadn't driven her away, nor his rough handling or crude language. For that matter, did he really want to drive her away? What advantage was there to have her fighting him every step of the process? She took everything he threw at her and somehow turned it around so that he had to remind her she hated him, just to stop himself saying the exact opposite to her. Crap, he was this close to accepting that he couldn't imagine a life where she wasn't in it, how fucked up was that? Next, he'd be admitting that he loved her, or some such stupid nonsense. He was Charles Duncan, he didn't do love or tenderness, didn't know the meaning of the words. 

If he repeated that enough times, maybe he'd come to believe it eventually. 

Who the fuck was he kidding? Just thinking of her standing naked in the shower had him hot, bothered and hard, wanting nothing more than to take the stairs two at a time, strip off his dusty clothes and join her, melding them together and fucking until they passed out or the water ran dry.   
And it was just fucking, none of this making love crap, he didn't love her so he couldn't 'make' love to her, he just wanted to lick her from her nose to her toes, and all points in between, then hold her so close their hearts beat in time, every breath shared between them, buried so deep in her body they became one fucking machine. He wanted to possess her and be possessive about her, he already spent far too much time thinking about her, what they'd already done, what he still wanted to do. She was in his blood, an exotic drug he had become addicted to.

Fuck this, he needed a shower now too. 

Jamie relished the warm water washing the sweat and grit from her skin, and out of her hair. The shower smelled of her shampoo, the rush of water over her head making her deaf to Duncan's stealthy approach. Large hands joined hers in her hair, massaging her scalp, working the lather and rinsing at the same time, his fingers feeling wonderful against her head. She hummed in pleasure, her hands dropping away to brace herself against the wall. So far only his hands were touching her, her imagination supplying the details of his body behind her, his undoubtedly hard cock standing up proudly because of her.  
“That feels wonderful,” she purred, her head moving from side to side as he bracketed her scalp and massaged over and around her ears to her nape. The fingers suddenly left and a pair of hot lips latched on to her shoulder, sucking hard enough to leave a hickey. She slowly turned, leaning her back against the wall to keep her face clear of the water, her hands sweeping her hair back so she could look up into his face.   
“Let me return the favor,” she murmured, lifting the bottle from the corner shelf that Mitch favored. Duncan lowered his head under the shower spray to soak his hair then lowered himself further so she could reach up and start to lather his head, her fingers digging into his thick mane, scratching and massaging the shampoo into the strands, copying what he'd done for her, massaging around and behind his ears, further to his nape, then spread her massage across his shoulders. He remained like that, hands braced on the wall behind her, looming over her but not moving as her hands came round his neck to frame his face, fingertips tracing over his brows, nose, and lips. She tilted her head up and he lowered his just enough that their lips could meet. Lazily they kissed under the water, Duncan lowering his arms to draw her body against his, his erection pressing against her belly.   
Jamie strained on tiptoes, her arms wrapped around his neck, her mouth moving against his, water cascading over them both. He tasted dark and delicious, his tongue tangling with hers as they pressed against each other, his hair roughened chest teasing her breast into peaks, the hair extending down to his groin, rubbing against her skin with a delightful friction. His arms banded about her, holding her tight, his strength making her soften and melt into his embrace, fitting them together seamlessly.   
“Take me to bed,” she demanded softly, licking the water off his cheek and jaw. He loosened his hold on her enough to flick off the shower, leaving them dripping. He released her and she took his hand, leading him out of the shower, across the floor and into the bedroom, not bothering with a towel. She dropped his hand and crawled onto the mattress, waggling her bottom at him as she stayed up on all fours. Glancing at him over her damp shoulder, she smiled slowly and he wasn't slow to get the message. Kneeling on the bed behind her, he pulled her back, fitting his rampant cock into her body, both of them moaning at the intimate contact. Seated snugly inside and against her, he leaned over her back and lapped at the droplets clinging to her skin, his hips rocking slowly as he drank up the water, biting to mark her, leaving behind a pattern on her skin claiming her as his. She was hot and tight around him, his knees between hers, his torse arched possessively over hers, his hands braced beside hers on the covers, surrounding her with his heat, their connection getting wetter and slicker with each push and pull, in and out of her body.  
Jamie lowered her head, exposing her nape and he opened his mouth to bite at the skin there, like a wolf keeping his mate in place, his knees spreading her legs wider, forcing her to stretch apart as he worked his hips harder, grunting with each thrust.  
With one hand he reached beneath her and stroked between her legs, feeling himself enter and leave her body, his fingers finding and caressing her bundle of pleasure. Jamie gasped at the extra stimulus sending sparks down her spine. She came hard, clenching around him and shuddering, her arms no longer able to support her and sending her to the mattress, her backside still up in the air. Leaning back, Duncan rested his hands on her hips and plowed into her, muscles still clutching at him as he worked towards his peak. She egged him on, pushing back into the cradle of his hips, engulfing him as far as he could go until he gave a final thrust and shook in his release, his head falling to rest against her spine, his hands finding her breasts and cupping them while he jerked into her unevenly.  
They remained like that, panting, hearts beating erratically until he softened enough to pull out, flopping down on the bed beside her, his arm coming up to cover his closed eyes. Jamie lowered herself more slowly, curling up against his side, her head finding its place on his shoulder, her free hand splayed over his chest above his heart, beating so hard it was visibly pulsing under his skin.   
Now he not only made love like Mitch, he smelled like his usual shampoo. She smiled against his chest, content that for all intents and purposes, she had a version of Mitch back that she could easily become accustomed to. 

Duncan lay on his back, his arm over his closed eyes, willing his heart to slow down while he pondered how he'd let a slip of a woman somehow worm her way under his defenses. He flatly refused to even think of the words that applied to what they were doing, of what they were becoming. He certainly wouldn't use the 'L' word or even something close to that. He excused his mellowing on their close quarters living situation and the strange environment they had to survive in. Maybe it was because she wasn't fighting him anymore, or something else. Whatever it was, he no longer wanted to do anything violent or sadistic to her, he just wanted what they'd just had – toe-curling, heart thumping, climax inducing satisfying sex without an injury in sight.   
Somehow, without him having a say in the matter, the seat of power had subtly shifted and all he wanted was more of the same, more of her, of her body, her easy willingness to engage on an intimate level with him, her generosity despite telling him she hated him.  
If this was hate, he'd be a happy fucker for the rest of his natural.   
Jamie shifted against him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He was on the edge of sleep when he heard her say something, his eyes flying open when she repeated her words whispered against his skin like a brand, burning and melting at the same time. 

Jamie listened to the steady thump of his heat, her head rising and falling as he breathed. His skin was velvet under her fingertips, the hair on his chest not coarse, but soft against her cheek. She circled one of his flat nipples, the tip responding to her gentle caress by swelling into a nub, begging her to kiss it. She did, then settled back against him again. This was the bit she loved, the calm after the storm, the cuddle after the coitus. She always felt treasured and cared for when she did this with Mitch, and now she had that same feeling again, this time with Duncan. No matter which way she looked at it, the man she was laying beside was becoming harder and harder to separate, their similarities far more pronounced than their disparities. As far as she cared, she was with the man she loved in every way possible, regardless of what he chose to call himself. Her heart knew this, and now her head accepted it without reserve.   
“I love you,” she whispered against his chest. “I truly love you...”

When she awoke, hours later, she was wrapped up in the covers and alone. She smiled to herself and snuggled into the sheets. Having no idea what the time was, she stretched then listened. The storm appeared to have blown itself out, the plane silent around her. Nothing unusual in that, there was only the two of them after all. Reluctantly peeling back the layers, she emerged feeling like a butterfly escaping its cocoon, her skin tingling, a smile painting her lips as she padded to the bathroom to take care of business. 

She descended the stairs to the laboratory level, dressed and a mug of something hot in her hands. Duncan wasn't anywhere upstairs, so she figured he was probably messing about in his favorite domain. She entered the central area but again there was no sign of him. Perplexed, but still not unduly worried, she set the mug down where he usually worked, then walked the length of the plane to the ramp. The truck sat just where they'd left it, but still no evidence of Duncan.  
A tiny frisson of something indefinable snaked coldly down her spine. This was no longer funny. Starting at the tail of the plane, she did a thorough search from top to bottom, front to back. Ending her search back in the room with the monitors, she sat down heavily on the swivel chair and admitted defeat. He wasn't on the plane.  
Staring up at the blank monitors, she got an idea and switched them on. The surveillance camera was still working despite the battering from the sandstorm. One showed the area at the back of the hanger, but there didn't seem to be anything to see there. She looked at the two focused on the front of the hanger where the abandoned Beechcraft sat, looking a shade dustier than before. It took her a moment to understand what was different about the scene in the pre-dawn light, but when it twigged she gasped. The car was gone. A horrible suspicion was starting to form and she pushed away from the desk and ran upstairs to his room. Nothing seemed disturbed and his clothes were all where she expected them to be except his glasses and spare. Puzzled, she slowly returned to the lab, sitting down heavily on the swivel chair, her brow furrowed. Maybe he'd simply felt a need to have some space, take a drive, blow the cobwebs away. He could have left her a note, the inconsiderate bastard. Sure that she'd worked out what had happened, she switched off the screens and went to fix herself, and Fucktard the cat, some breakfast.   
The day passed slowly, the cat keeping her company as she roamed the plane, filling her time with taking inventory of their supplies, the state of their water tank, sewage levels, fuel and general health and well being of the aircraft overall. That done, she stopped for lunch, noting that they'd need to do a shopping run to top up the cupboards before long. Fucktard curled up on her lap when she sat in one of the lounge chairs and switched on the big screen, keen to see what had been happening while their domestic dramas had taken center stage. The news made for grim viewing. Despite Jackson's best efforts to shut the beacons down, enough had remained to bring their nests to maturation, the hybrids reeking havoc on every continent and spreading fast, the people caught in their path largely defenseless, the armed forces of every country stretched to fight them off. Where there were no hybrids there was rioting and protests at the restrictions put in place to protect resources. With deaths from hybrid attacks mounting, it was becoming a situation out of control of most authorities. The only tiny glimmer of hope in amongst the carnage was news that the first attempt to grow a viable fetus had been a success, the embryo implanted into a host and appeared to be developing normally. A universal vaccine to counteract the effects of the original gas that sterilized everyone was in the works, but still months away from early trials. In other news were reports of wild and unusual weather hitting all around the globe, bringing snow to places that had never seen it in anyone's living lifetime, or rain to parts of deserts that had been dry for hundreds of years. There was also reports of flooding on a scale that no one had seen before records were begun. Thoroughly depressed she switched off the screen and brooded, the cat curled up in her lap purring as she stroked it. 

In the afternoon, she hitched up the trailer, loaded the truck with a small arsenal and went to service the feeding station. The air was cold and the wind still stirring up the dust as she drove the loaded trailer to Blythe, her eyes darting to left and right in a vain search for a glimpse of the Sullivan's car. She reached the feeding station and was greeted by the animals there, no sign of the hybrids in the way the cats and dogs were behaving. As quickly as possible she filled up the many bowls and troughs, keeping the truck close by to allow a quick escape is needed. Water was next and she kept her eyes peeled as she filled the various water bowls. When she was done, she looked around briefly then climbed back onboard and shut the door, sitting there with her hands on the steering wheel, simply watching the animals eat and drink their fill. Without Mitch or Duncan at her side she felt afraid for a moment, then she lifted her hand and slammed it against the steering wheel. What was she, a completely spineless worm? She'd been alone before, and probably would be again, so what if Duncan or Mitch or whoever he was today decided to go off somewhere and sulk, she wouldn't let that turn her into a fearful, gibbering wreck just because she didn't have a man around. Hell, she was Jamie Campbell, with a honking great big plane, more weapons than a small army and the guts to do whatever needed doing. Her internal tirade at herself ended when a tear slowly leaked out and snaked its way down her face. Angrily she brushed it away but it was followed by another, then another until she was overwhelmed, resting her head on the steering wheel and sobbing her heart out.   
When she finally lifted her head the feeding station was empty, as were most of the food bowls. Wiping her eyes and face clear of the sticky residue of her tears, she got the truck going and headed back into town. There was nothing to indicate anything had changed since her last drive through, the roads a little more choked with grit and debris after the storm, but no signs of another vehicle passing along the main street. Of course, it was entirely possible that he'd gone in the other direction, away from Blythe. She'd go that way tomorrow. There was no need for her to linger anymore in town, so she did a u-turn and headed back to the airport, kicking up a plume of dust in her wake. 

From his high perch at the power plant, Duncan watched the dust cloud as it returned along the highway and turned onto the airport approach road. Contrary to current popular thinking he was not sulking, he was just taking some much-needed space away from Jamie to review his situation.   
He refused to acknowledge that the effect of a few whispered words had been enough to drive him out and away as soon as his bed partner was asleep. He wasn't afraid of words, they meant nothing. He didn't lean on anyone and he didn't expect anyone to lean on him. That was the way it was. What he'd been enjoying was only ever a spur of the moment thing, a throwaway line about seven ways to Sunday, a joke that had now run its course. From the balcony railing, that ran around the top of one of the steam chimneys of the power station buildings, he could see for miles, and easily see the airport and the hanger. She'd probably already renamed the cat to something more civilized. Turning away from the view he looked in the other direction, towards the town, seeing the ridiculously huge signs that dotted the town, standing out from the squat buildings they were advertising. Somewhere among all those buildings would be a place he could live, secure from the hybrids and able to be coaxed into producing fresh produce. Despite them having the run of the town for their supply of food and goods, they were chronically short of fresh fruit and veggies. If he couldn't bring himself to live with her, then the least he could do was provide her with something to help her stay alive and healthy. Leaning over the steel railing he peered at the car parked at the base, looking, from his perspective, like a toy car. Daylight was burning and he needed to start his search and find a place before it got dark. 

Jamie tossed and turned in her bed, her dreams full of faces from the recent past, the one she wanted to see obvious by his absence. Giving up her attempt to sleep, she rose and went to find breakfast. Supplies were starting to thin out, her choices narrowing. Fucktard sat on the kitchen bench and blinked at her, his tail swinging back and forth as he watched her shuffled around the cupboards, putting together a meal that hardly qualified as breakfast.   
“Don't judge me,” she muttered at the animal, shaking cat biscuits into his bowl. The litter tray was in dire need of changing, something else she'd do after breakfast.   
Sitting down, she switched on the big screen and toggled the remote, surfing the channels to find the latest news. She muted the sound and just watched the pictures, reading the headlines as they flashed onto the screen. Chaos seemed to be the word of the day, riots and panic coming a close second. Simple disruption had become martial law in many places, the army creating safe havens for those remaining, the unbelievable scenes of the wrapped bodies of the dead interred in mass graves, the burials perfunctory and quick to avoid desecration by scavengers and hybrid alike. Political control was a thing of the past, anyone with the means spending their money on security fences and armed guards to keep them and their families safe, while the rest did what they could to barricade themselves in their homes, or live within a safe zone with its attendant problems of overcrowding, crime, and shortages. There was also a short article that suggested that people were moving behind the barrier to escape into the hybrid badlands and reoccupy the abandoned cities and towns, as a way to avoid the anarchy taking over everywhere else.   
“Looks like we might have company after all,” Jamie told Fucktard, the cat giving her a measured stare before washing itself.

She drove to the feeding station with Fucktard in the back of the truck. The cat seemed to enjoy having the run of the vehicle, peering out of the dusty windows, then running to the other side to look out there. Jamie was just glad of the company. She slammed on the brakes and brought the truck to a sliding stop. In the center of the feeding area was a table decorated with a gaily colored and patterned cloth. On top of that was a blue, plastic crate. She pulled the truck forward and stopped when she was close enough to be able to wind the window down and peer into the box.   
It was full of a strange assortment of vegetables and fruit. Many of them misshapen or marked, but all fresh. Somewhat surprised, to say the least, she reached out and lifted the box into the front seat of the truck, Fucktard jumping over from the back to investigate. Jamie wound up the window and got the truck moving again to its usual position close to the food bowls and water troughs.   
She completed her task of feeding and watering the dwindling crowd of cats and dogs. She'd noticed that there were fewer appearing when she arrived and she put this down to the natural attrition due to age, and maybe some had met their fate against the hybrids. Getting back into the truck she paused as she passed the table, looking it over in case she missed something, but she hadn't. It that was how he wanted to play the game, she wasn't about to sacrifice her pride and beg him to come back. He'd put this distance between them, he could close it again when he wanted to. He knew where she was.   
Pressing down on the accelerator she set off down the bumpy track, the trailer bouncing along behind her. 

From a vantage point nearby, Duncan lowered the binoculars and grimaced. He shouldn't have watched, shouldn't have seen her, should've just left the stuff and not kept his glasses trained on her, seen her every expression, the way she moved as she filled the containers with food and water.   
He reached up to rub his forehead. He ached to follow her, wrap her in his arms and just inhale her. He gritted his teeth. He could get past this. 

The fresh produce was a welcome addition to her daily intake, her day brightened by the appearance of another blue crate full of varied items of fruit and vegetables to replace the empty one she left there. She never saw any other sign of him, only the box with its odd assortment of bit and pieces of fruit, veggies. She often felt that eyes were watching her as she trawled the shops to fulfill her shopping list of requirement, Fucktard the cat her constant companion. As the days rolled by she developed a routine of things to do daily, things to do weekly, things to do to fill the hours of the night where there was only her and the cat in the big bed. She limited her watching of the television news to once or twice a week, to avoid being overwhelmed with what was happening in the world. She started to work on another novel, the plane filled with music as her fingers flew over the keyboard, time disappearing as she developed her plot, her characters, and their adventures. She filled any leftover hours with strength exercises, target practice, and yoga, Fucktard making her laugh when he tried to sit on her in some of her more interesting positions. If at night she cried herself to sleep or awoke with wet cheeks, she refused to acknowledge the evidence of her weakness. But always, when she was out in the truck, she looked for him, taking different roads each time around Blythe, looking for his bolt hole.

Duncan quickly learned her new routines, always sure to be on the watch for her trips to town or the feeding station. He knew exactly how much time he had from her leaving the airport to arriving, picking up the empty blue crate and replacing it with a full one usually once a week. His efforts to harvest what was surviving had been the source of his finds, but now, with judicious use of existing gardens and water sources, he had a ramshackle greenhouse producing a number of items, along with several small orchards scattered around different properties benefiting from his husbandry and watering, providing more than enough for his needs and Jamie's. The only real item missing from both their diets was meat. What few chickens he'd found to have survived, he managed to corral into one place protected with a substantial fence to keep out predators of all sizes. He named the house the Coop, the chickens allowed to run free inside and out of the house and its rooms, protected by the high fences and a wire netting 'ceiling' above. Slowly the birds recovered, the one rooster he'd found kept busy with his harem, the eggs not taken by Duncan for himself and Jamie, allowed to hatch naturally, increasing the flock. Apart from the cats, dogs, and chickens, there were no other domestic animals, leading him to suppose they either wandered away, died, were eaten or were taken away with the human population.  
He was careful not to substantially alter any of the exteriors of the places he used either for plants or animals, no evidence from the outside to suggest anything interesting or important was taking place behind the paint-peeling fences or dusty, smeared windows.   
He noticed that Jamie had started to search the side streets, looking for him or evidence of where he was, making him work harder to keep his projects secret. He refused to examine too closely why he was going to such trouble, or why he was hiding from the one person he craved like the worst addiction. At night sometimes he couldn't sleep until he'd bought one of their sexual encounters to mind and he'd wanked off, spilling himself on the sheets, her name on his lips, her smile the last image he thought of before falling into an exhausted, sweaty rest. 

Everything changed the day the desert hybrids found him. 

It had been a long day and he'd got careless. He had endured nearly two months separation from Jamie, still not able to come to terms with her feelings for him or how that affected him. There had been little or no sighting of the hybrids since the death of the Sullivans, and he'd become complacent. He still carried a gun, more for peace of mind than any effectiveness it would have against a pack of the beasts, but that night he left it on the bedside table along with his glasses, not realizing that he'd left a door unlocked. Like always he slept naked, the nights cool but not enough to warrant more than a token blanket or two after the hot days. The weather reflected that they were heading into spring, new growth on trees and surviving shrubs testament to the change in the seasons.   
He never knew what woke him, his face smooshed into the pillows, his back exposed to the room. Maybe some survival instinct made his movements slow as he rolled onto his back only to find himself staring up into the ferocious looking jaws of a desert hybrid.  
The animal straddled his body, furred legs either side of his own, the front paws bracketing his neck. He could smell it, almost taste is in the air, its breath a warm gust over his face.  
He swallowed, his mouth dry. He sensed movement and swiveled his eyes to see other shapes moving in the darkened room, members of the pack standing back from the edges of the bed, waiting and watching. He returned his gaze to the animal standing over him, meeting the dark, glittering eyes with his own.  
Faced with what he considered his end, he relaxed his tense muscles and tilted his chin, giving the creature free access to his jugular and hopefully a quick end. His thoughts turned to Jamie and his regret that he wouldn't ever see her or touch her again. The hybrid shifted and he closed his eyes, expecting to feel those wickedly sharp teeth tear into his flesh. He'd seen the results of their attack on the Sullivans, so he knew at least it would be quick. One of the pack members whined and he opened his eyes a crack, noting that the animal still straddling him was looking over at the other animal, a series of yips and guttural grunts leaving the beasts' throat as if in response to a question asked. Duncan must have moved involuntarily because suddenly he was literally nose to nose with the hybrid, the animal's snout starting to sniff him in between blowing out air. A long tongue snaked out and licked his face, a move that shocked him briefly. The sniffing started again, the long whiskery snout snuffling through his hair, his vision filled with horrendously sharp teeth and hot breath as the hybrid continued to explore. He moved to bring his hand up but found instead that the hybrid could move with uncanny speed, capturing his hand and wrist between teeth like needles. Any pressure would pierce his skin and sink those fangs into bone and veins, possibly even sever his hand completely. Duncan froze, his mouth opening to pant in response to the adrenaline coursing through his body.  
The hybrid released him unexpectedly and his hand dropped to the sheets, unharmed. Duncan was starting to wonder how long it was all going to take when the hybrid pushed its nose into his left hand, exactly where the spine from the wolf hybrid had skewered him. Then the creature pressed its nose to other places on his torso, the scars caused by the hybrids on Pangeae, even against his neck where the spider had bitten him many months ago. It was as if the creature knew that those injuries had been made by mutated animals or hybrids like himself.   
At length the desert hybrid pulled back, letting out a loud yelp-like bark right in Duncan's face, deafening him, before jumping off the bed to join its pack. As silently as they'd arrived, they were gone, leaving him shaking uncontrollably in reaction.

Jamie carefully poured the last of a bag of dog biscuits into a bowl, shaking the bag to get the crumbs out. That done she folded it and walked to the truck to get another. As she passed the open driver's side window Fucktard let out a meow and she raised her hand to scratch his head. Suddenly the cat let out a hiss and ducked down, Jamie frowning at his odd behavior.   
“Stupid cat.”  
She went to the next bowl to be filled and bent over to pull the tear tab. Before she could straighten up something pushed her in the middle of her back and she stumbled forward, dropping the bag and putting her hands out to stop her fall. Before she had a chance to right herself, teeth clamped down on her shoulder and she cried out. The pressure on her shoulder increased and she responded by lowering herself flat to the ground, her cheek pressed to the grit. Blinking the dust from her eyes she glanced up and saw a number of the desert hybrid advancing on her. This was it then, they were going to tear her apart. This was payback for being so caught up in her thoughts of Duncan that she didn't notice when the others animals scarpered. Even Fucktard had tried to tell her, and she'd ignored him. The hybrid with his jaws sunk into her leather jacket, started to pull back, tugging the jacket off her left arm completely but forestalled where it was trapped by her right arm tucked against her body. Under the jacket she was wearing just a singlet, her arm entirely exposed except for the glove on her hand. This was also grasped between knife-like teeth and tugged off her hand, Jamie thinking for a bizarre minute that they wanted to strip her entirely. When she made to rise, a heavy paw landed on her neck and held her down. Through the curtain of her hair she watched as the pack approached, one of the biggest members giving a growling yip, the others falling back as if ordered. The big hybrid came right up close and started to snuffled around her head, his jaws partly open and wide enough that if he wanted to he could have bitten her head off. Even as that thought popped into her head, she started to shake, her heart speeding up like a rocket, her bladder releasing and soaking her jeans, the acrid smell of urine scenting the air. Jamie was sure this was it, her fate to be one of a pile of bleached bones and torn clothing after being savaged by mutated hybrids. Her thoughts turned to Mitch and Duncan, in her mind one and the same. She mourned his loss, her throat becoming thick with tears. The big hybrid continued his exploration, his attention now on her left arms where the scars of her encounter with the wolf hybrid were still very evident. The beasts' tongue snaked out and licked the length of her arm several times, Jamie cringing against the dirt each time. The paw that had been holding her down now lifted and hooked her under her waist, turning her onto her back, turtle-like. Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the death blow. When it didn't arrive she cautiously opened her eyes and stared up into the terror-inducing muzzle of the big hybrid, his head lowering to press against her belly, despite Jamie's best efforts to protect herself, the heavy head pressing against her abdomen several times before pulling back. The creature that had been using his paw to hold her down now trotted off to join the rest of the pack, leaving her at the mercy of the big hybrid, the alpha male. Shaking uncontrollably, she lay at his feet almost insensible with fear. In her present state she didn't see Duncan running towards her, the pack rising to their feet and parting to let him through, the alpha positioning himself so that the man approaching could see when the jaws closed around Jamie's neck in a loose hold, only the tips of the fangs touching the pale skin.   
Duncan skidded to a halt, almost falling in his haste, his hands coming up in the universal placating gesture, his entire focus on the big hybrid standing over Jamie. The pack ranged themselves silently behind the human male, waiting for a signal from their leader. Dark feral eyes commanded Duncan to stay where he was, the hybrid slowly drawing back from the female and giving her a perfunctory quick snuffle before walking slowly passed the unmoving man to rejoin his pack. Duncan held his breath as the hybrids turned as one and left the feeding station, melting into the desert like ghosts. Only when they were gone did he scrabble to reach the woman curled up in the dust. 

Jamie opened her eyes to find herself in a completely unfamiliar room. Her lips parted on a gasp as her last memory lurched into her conscious mind. Her fingers came up to touch her neck, finding no scabs or bruising, the same on her arms or shoulders. Looking down at herself she wondered when she'd ever purchased such an impractical nighty, the silky fabric cool against her skin. Pushing back the covers, she examined herself all over but could find no injuries, cuts or bruises. The bedroom was comfortable if modest, spacious but not expensively furnished, the curtains pulled against the night. A couple of side lights on either wall provided illumination. As she sat with her knees pulled up, the door opened and the one person she'd been longing for, that had caused her so many broken nights and damp pillows appeared.   
He was carrying a tray, but he set that down hurriedly and came to sit on the side of the bed, his eyes running over her body from top to toe, as if searching for something. Within seconds his eyes found hers and they stared at each other for a long moment. Jamie drank in the sight of him, her hands shaking as she reached out for him, Duncan moving the same second she did so they met in a tight embrace, arms wrapped around each other, never to let go.   
Jamie clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, determined to hold on forever if needs be. Duncan buried his nose in her neck, his arms wrapping around her, pressing her even closer against him. He made to pull back but Jamie just clutched him tighter.   
“Don't let me go, don't ever let me go,” she spoke into his shoulder, her fingers flexing against his back through his shirt.   
“God, I've missed you...I won't let you go, I promise.”  
They stayed that way for several minutes, pressed chest to chest, heartbeats racing, both so relieved that the other was still alive and in their arms. At length they mutually pulled back far enough to look into the other's face, Jamie bringing up a hand to trace over his features, while his hand brushed the bright hair back from her face, cupping the side of her head as he stroked his thumb against her cheek. Her eyes started to well with moisture as emotions spilled over, his own not quite dry, his lips twisting into a crooked grin.   
“Hey,” he said. Jamie watched him, ignoring the occasional tear the tracked down her cheek.  
“You left me,” she stated.  
“I won't ever leave you again,” he replied, smearing the moisture on her skin with a sweep of his thumb.   
Her lips parted on a sigh and he leaned forward to capture them with his own, the kiss a mere brush of skin against skin to start with, then she pressed forward and deepened it, her tongue now emerging to play and rediscover, until mouth fused to mouth and they drank deeply of each other, discovering new textures and tastes, the kiss lasting a long time.   
Eventually they came up for air, Jamie's head coming to rest naturally against his shoulder, his hands holding her close as she relaxed into his body. They stayed that way for a long time until she stirred and sat up.  
“What happened?” she asked, pulling her knees up again and wrapping her arms around them. “I remember that hybrid, he had his teeth poised against my neck.”  
Duncan nodded, missing the feel of her against him. “They surprised me the other night, got into the house and literally stood over me while I lay in bed. I thought it was the end, honestly. But they only stayed long enough to inspect me, then left.”  
“Is that what they did with me? I don't entirely remember the ending...”  
“Yes, the leader, the big hybrid only mouthed your neck in a move to force me to stop.”  
Jamie looked at him in surprise. “You were there? I don't remember...I didn't see you.”  
He gave her his crooked smile again. “You were kinda out of things by then.”  
Jamie stared back at him, suddenly flushing pink as she remembered something. “I wet myself. God, how humiliating.” she buried her face against her knees. Duncan looked down to where his fingers plucked at the sheet.   
“You couldn't help it, the body was just responding to the level of stress you were under. Most animals and people to the same thing when gripped by fear,” he explained.   
Jamie lifted her head and grimaced. “I thought I was stronger than that.”  
Duncan let out a huff of laughter. “I don't know anyone who would have reacted differently, given the circumstances. You thought you were about to be torn apart.”  
“I did. I thought of you, of us...” She moved suddenly, rising up on her knees to throw herself back into his arms, pressing herself against him as if trying to get into his skin. He held her tightly, rocking them both, loving the feel of her soft body against his.  
“I've done a fair bit of thinking myself,” he murmured into her hair. “I shouldn't have left. I've regretted it every moment since.”   
Jamie lifted her head and stared into his face, her hand coming up to lift his glasses away. He blinked at her, watching as she placed the items on the bedside table then returned to her former position.  
“Don't tell me, show me,” she demanded, pulling up the hem of the nighty and tossing it over her head to land on the floor.  
Duncan's clothes quickly followed, their bodies coming together in a heated embrace before joining, one in the other, fitting together seamlessly. Both strained to absorb the other into their skin, moving in a leisurely manner to make it last. Of course, it couldn't stay that way, the bed rocking as they writhed and changed positions, the air punctuated with moans and growls, sighs and wet noises, two bodies as one entity. Duncan came first, his body quaking in the aftermath, clutching her tightly, his eyes squeezed shut. Jamie held him close, smoothing her fingers over his skin, murmuring to him as he relaxed against her, his body still hard inside hers. Eventually, he lifted his head, his warm, brown gaze sweeping over her face.  
“You are beautiful,” he told her, cupping her face between his hands. “So, so beautiful.”  
Jamie gazed up at him. “I love you,” she stated.   
“I know.” He lowered his head to kiss her, moving his lower body slowly, stroking in and out with deep thrusts, stoking the fires that would bring her to her own climax. They rocked together, skin against heated skin, lips melded together in long, leisurely kisses, her legs stroking his sides as he worked to bring her pleasure, the room filling with the scents and sounds of their lovemaking.  
When she came is was with heat radiating in waves up her body, her muscles clenching tight around him, her mouth opening on a gasp of satisfaction, carried away on a wave of sensation.   
He watched it all, his body still moving but slowly, feeling her relax around him, under him, her eyes half closed as she watched him watch her until they closed fully and she sighed, relaxing back into pillows and damp sheets. They lay like that, intimately joined, just enjoying the feel of being one together, Duncan using butterfly kisses over her eyes and cheeks, at the corners of her mouth and down her neck. He started to move again, drawing out of her only to slide back in, her body lifting to meet his, urging him on to his own fulfillment until he shuddered and jerked against her, his head falling to rest on her breasts, hips pushing him into her to spill his seed inside her.   
Her fingers combed through his hair, scraping against his scalp making him want to purr. Instead, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her breasts before rolling them both to the side as he lay down, exhausted but supremely happy and satisfied.

Jamie watched him sleep, his long hair flopping over his forehead, her fingers brushing it aside, smoothing over his skin and tracing his brows. They'd shared the breakfast between them, feeding each other and licking off anything that strayed or dripped, laughing and kissing, making love again when all the food was gone. Sometime late in the morning they heard a yowling at the bedroom door, Fucktard demanding entrance, having grown bored wandering around the empty house. The cat immediately jumped on the bed and pushed against Jamie for attention, turning to sniff Duncan when he rejoined her under the covers and accepting the man's fingers scratching behind his furry ears.   
Duncan lay back against the pillows and watched Jamie play with the cat until it started to use its claws, then she pulled back, leaving the animal alone and laying her head next to his on the pillows while Fucktard started to wash himself at the end of the bed.   
“The news in the world beyond the wall is getting worse,” she told him. “Jackson isn't winning the race to get the beacons down before the hybrids hatch.”  
“It was arrogant to think he could. It was always going to be the Kobayashi Maru scenario,” he replied. Jamie looked at him sideways.   
“Kobi-what?”   
Duncan rolled his eyes. “A nerdish reference to a no-win situation. Way to make a guy feel old.”  
Jamie grinned. “Sucker. I've hung around you too long not to know a pop-culture reference when I hear one.”  
Duncan smiled back at her, his heart feeling weightless and free. He felt something on his face and put his hand up to his nose, feeling a wetness. When he pulled his fingers back they were coated in blood. Jamie's eyes widened and she reached for him.  
“Duncan?”  
A pain lanced through him, lightning coursing through his body from his scalp to his toes, a scream ripped from his throat as pain suffused his head like a hammer blow. The cat shot off the bed and disappeared under the dressing table, its tail poofed up like a bottlebrush.   
Jamie knelt on the bed, helpless and afraid, unable to restrain him as he thrashed, his fingers digging into his head, his eyes squeezed shut. A vicious spasm made him bare his gritted teeth, a hoarse wail passing his lips, his heart rate spiking.   
“Oh, God, what can I do?” Jamie cried out, tears slipping unheeded down her face, feeling his pain.   
As suddenly as the seizure happened, it released its death grip, and Duncan slumped back against the pillows, unconscious.


	10. Changeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie finds out that the third time is not necessarily the charm.

Jamie was torn. Duncan lay insensible, no attempt by her able to rouse him. Without help, there was no way she could get him to the truck to take back to the airport, which also precluded her getting him to the local hospital, not that it would do any good if she could. Her thinking was becoming muddled and she had to fight back her tendency to cry at the drop of a hat. The blood was another complicating factor. Mitch hadn't bled at all when he'd suffered the grand mal seizure, and he'd recovered relatively quickly. Duncan had been in his current state for two days. She had been loathed to leave him even for a minute, even to go back to the plane and gather all the paraphernalia she'd need to monitor him. He looked a good color, his breathing and heart were steady and uninterrupted, his eyes were normal and reacted when she shone a light on them, his skin was warm to the touch. For all intents and purposes he appeared to be just sleeping, but then there was the blood. A nosebleed wasn't a major situation under normal circumstances, but it could indicate something more serious, a something she couldn't research without going back to the plane. So, on it went, her thoughts circle round the drain, her normal decisive thinking apparently on holiday.

During the brief times she left the bedroom, to get something to eat or just take a break, she had found his notes regarding what he'd been doing in the past months away from her. She found out where all the fruit and veg were coming from, the supply of eggs, the upkeep of the chicken house and his monitoring of her own activities. “Of course, not stalkerish at all!” she laughed to herself. All this time that she'd been looking for him, he'd been watching her. What a pair they were. 

She had dragged a mattress in from one of the other room, so she could sleep in the room with him. She would have preferred to sleep in the bed with him but decided she needed all the rest she could get in case things went from bad to worse. Fucktard took her place beside him instead, curling up tucked into Duncan's side between his arm and torso only leaving his self-appointed guardianship to follow Jamie around the house when she went in search of food and water for them both or to go outside to take care of business.

 

He awoke to a dull ache thumping behind his eyes, his forehead wrinkling and brows drawing together as he struggled to get open them. He lay there taking in his situation, listening and hearing the sound of another person sleeping in the room with him. He appeared to have a small, warm animal sleeping against his side, his hand encountering soft fur and pointed ears, indicating a cat was snuggled up beside him.  
The thumping started to subside and he slowly opened his eyes. The room was in darkness with only pale moonlight coming through the window blinds. He blinked but his fuzzy focus didn't improve. He could see his hand when he brought it up to his face, but when he pulled it back it went out of focus. He must be short-sighted. If that was the case there should be a pair of glasses nearby. He turned his head to see if that was a fact, but it was too dark to make anything out. He was a bit surprised to find himself naked under the covers and embarrassed to realize that, from the smell, he'd wet himself sometime recently. Something in his head clicked into place and he understood that he had probably been unconscious for awhile and unable to control his bodily functions. First priority, he told himself – have a shower. As he lay there he noted that he appeared to be laying in an ordinary bed, in an ordinary bedroom, probably in a bog-standard ordinary house. Why he was there or where he was were two questions that were top of his list, alongside the other burning questions, who the hell was he and why couldn't he remember? He was moderately concerned about the other person in the room and tried to sit up to investigate. He discovered that he was in a considerably weakened state, his body uncooperative when he tried to move, his arms and legs feeling as though filled with lead. How long had he been out of it? He tried to call out, to speak, but his throat only produced a strange gurgling noise. He swallowed and tried again, this time producing a croaking moan, not at all what he was trying for. He heard a rustle of sheets and the sleeper beside his bed sat up, hair tussled and rubbing their eyes. The moonlight caught the sheen of a nightgown, confirming it was a woman in the room with him. As he watched, she got to her feet and, still half asleep, wandered out of the room without even looking at him. He heard the sound of a flushing toilet nearby and expected her to reappear within seconds. She did, padding across the room, back to her bed. Alarmed that she hadn't noticed he was awake, he tried to speak but again only produced a strangle groan, the sound making the woman stop dead in her tracks and stare at him. Now she noticed that he was awake. She moved to switch on the bedside lamp and he winced at the flood of light, screwing up his eyes against the glare.  
“Mitch?” her voice was soft and tentative, which surprised him. Didn't she know who he was? She approached the bed and sat on the side, the nightgown leaving little to his imagination as her breasts moved freely under the thin material. He tried to look away but they seemed to have a magnetic pull on him. Swallowing hard he looked up into her face, seeing features that he didn't recognize, but that obviously knew him. He parted his lips to try and speak, but nothing came out except a rasping croak, his ability to speak deserting him. Apparently realizing that speech was temporarily beyond him, the woman smiled down at him and placed her hand on his face, smoothing over his skin in a familiar and loving way. Some curious part of his mind instantly wondered if he and this woman had been intimate, the exact words his mind supplied was actually whether they'd fucked because he'd certainly want to tap that ass and soon. Mentally beating his libido back into its box, he gazed up into the face of a woman that clearly had feelings for him. She had been speaking but he was blowed if he could recall what words she'd used. If he kept his focus on her face and not on the nipples pressing against the silky material, he might have a better chance of understanding her.  
“....you've been unconscious for a couple of days. How are you feeling?”  
He understood the question and wanted to give her an answer, but despite screwing his face up and opening his mouth the only sound he could produce was a growling moan, his mind seemingly having forgotten what speech was or how to make it. He looked up at her with an expression of frustration and fear, his hand lifting to indicate the trouble he was having.  
“Don't try and talk, I'll get you something to drink.” She got up, but before leaving leaned over him and pressed her lips to his forehead, her breasts now right in his face, with the inevitable consequence of his body responding and tenting the bed covers. The woman remained thankfully oblivious to his embarrassment and left the room to fetch him something to drink. He lay back against the pillow and tried to summon up something, anything to get his body to settle back down. What sort of man was he that the simple sight of a woman's covered breasts with a hint of a nipple could have him harder than rock in seconds? Didn't he have more self-control than that? Maybe his body had known this woman intimately, and that was why it responded so readily? She was certainly to his taste, although he didn't know if redheads were his thing, obviously, breasts were very much his thing. She was slender, had curves in all the right places, was pretty to look at, and seemed to have feelings for him, plus the rear view was as good as the front. So, a win for him. A sudden thought crossed his mind. What if she was related to him? Was he lusting after his sister? His face reflected his disgust at that idea, his body subsiding equally quickly. He lifted up his head and stared down at his chest and arms. His body hair was dark, almost black with a small sprinkling of silver here and there. He certainly wasn't a redhead, so that could rule out the sibling angle. If he went purely on his automatic reaction to her, then they weren't remotely related, which gave him some relief. She didn't seem familiar to him and he couldn't put a name to the face, so maybe they were complete strangers to each other? No, she'd kissed him on the forehead, that usually denoted some level of affection between them, didn't it?  
The door opened and she returned carrying a tray, her lips pulled into a smile.  
“I didn't know if you would be hungry as well as thirsty, so I brought breakfast, even though it's still dark out. Do you think you can sit up?” She put the tray on the bedside table.  
He was damned if he'd let her spoon feed him, so he struggled to heave himself back and up against the pillows. When he disturbed the blankets a fresh wave of smell wafted up and he grimaced, lifting the covers to see a pad of towels beneath his hips, the source of the odor. Before he could voice a protest, the woman was by the bed.  
“Lift up your butt and I'll get rid of those.” She waited patiently for him to comply, then tugged the towels out from under him and took them out of the room, while he sat there, completely embarrassed, his color high. That little episode certainly killed any lingering problem he was having with his dick. Why he was being so self-conscious about such a basic issue he couldn't explain, he only knew that his cheeks burned with embarrassment that the woman had not only performed such an intimate task, she had also seen his dick at half mast and not batted an eyelid. Was it usual for him to be half-cocked around her? If she wasn't his sister, was she his wife?

Jamie dumped the soiled towels into the washing machine and closed the lid. She stood there for a moment, leaning on the lid of the machine, her eyes closed. He was alive and conscious, a definite bonus, but apparently had lost his ability to speak. It remained to be seen what else was wrong. God, why did this keep happening to them? She drew in a deep breath and straightened up, smoothing her hair back from her face before wiping her hands down her nightdress. She had handled worse, she could do this. 

He watched her re-enter the room, a tight smile curving her lips. She approached and sat down on the side of the bed, lifting the tray onto his lap. Her troubled eyes met his and he could see she was as nonplussed by him as he was with himself. He opened his mouth to talk, but as before only unintelligible noises came out, his vocal cords either somehow destroyed or just not working. He gestured to his voice box and grimaced. She nodded in understanding.  
“I don't know why you can't talk, this didn't happen before.”  
He squinted at her, then raised his eyebrows, clearly asking her, “Before?”  
“You had a grand mal seizure a few months ago, but the after effects only lasted minutes, not days.”  
He gave her a confused expression, his hand coming up to tap his head then spread his fingers as if to ask why he'd had a seizure in the first place.  
“You have a device, a bio-drive embedded in your brain. We tried to take it out once before but we were warned that if it was removed, you'd lose all memory of your life, of the people you knew....everything.”  
He coughed and made a croaking noise, clenching his fist and pressing it against the side of his head, his eyes opening wide in distress. Jamie closed hers and nodded in understanding.  
“You want to know why it was in there in the first place?”  
He nodded. He watched her face, seeing the struggle taking place about what to tell him. He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard. Jamie cried out and he suddenly let go, his hands gesturing for her to tell him. She got up to put herself some distance away from him, her left hand soothing the injured right.  
“I don't know how much you remember...” she started but a garbled sound from the man in the bed drew her attention. He was gesturing with his hands. “Do you remember me at all?” Jamie asked. The man shook his head vehemently, wincing when the dull thumping started up again.  
“Do you remember anything?” Jamie asked, frozen in place to await his answer. Again, he shook his head in the negative. He remembered nothing.  
Jamie stared at him in shocked disbelief. It seemed that what they had feared all along had happened. For whatever reason, the bio drive had malfunctioned in a way the same as if they'd tried to remove it and wiped all his memories.  
“What is your name?” she asked, in a desperate effort to hold on to some hope. The man in the bed shrugged and held out his hands in an unmistakable gesture of “I don't know”.  
For Jamie that was the last straw. She sat down on the end of the bed and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Not only could he not speak, he had no memories either.

He set the tray aside and sat helplessly as the woman sobbed into her hands. What she had told him made little sense. Apparently, someone had put some gizmo into his brain which had malfunctioned not just this time, but before, and left him without recent or past memories and stolen his ability to speak. He supposed he should be glad that was all he'd lost. Struck by that thought he consciously willed his toes to wiggle, which they did, then he flexed his knees, which worked fine. He already knew his back and hips worked from when the towel was removed, and he had sensation in his tackle, so there was no hint of paralysis, which was a blessing. His eyesight would be remedied with the application of glasses, so he looked around to find them. He reached over to the other bedside table and snagged the frames just sitting there. Putting them on, he was profoundly relieved when the world came in to focus once more. The woman at the end of the bed, with her back to him, was still crying and he felt a well of sympathy for her. He didn't know her from Adam, but that didn't mean he was completely heartless, he just didn't know how to help her. Feeling the need to do something, he drew his legs up and slowly turned himself to get his feet to the floor and sit on the edge of the bed. It took him a few moments, but he achieved that small feat making him feel better. He wrapped the sheet around his middle to preserve his dignity then looked over to the tray left beside him. Shakily, he lifted the glass of water there and bought it to his lips. It was tepid and slightly brackish, but to his throat it was the finest nectar and he swallowed it thirstily. The food she'd brought seemed to consist of slices of various fruits and vegetables and some biscuits. Not your usual breakfast of champions, but he wasn't about to be fussy. If he worked on getting his strength back, maybe his voice would return with it. He happily munched on the fruit pieces, his stomach growling in anticipation of being fed after a long fast, his back turned on the woman behind him. So absorbed in his first meal, he didn't notice she'd stopped crying and was simply watching him, a woebegone look on her face. 

Jamie watched him eat, seemingly ignoring her and her distress. What on earth was she going to call him? This wasn't Mitch, nor Duncan. Both of those former incarnations had at least remembered her and their situation. Here, she was faced with a virtual stranger and one who couldn't communicate easily. His beautiful brown eyes looked at her, but didn't see Jamie Campbell, he only saw a stranger dressed in a practically transparent nightgown sitting weeping on his bed. God, this was appalling. As he seemed happily consumed with eating, she'd take the opportunity to get dressed into something more appropriate and get a jump on the day. She stood up and walked around the bed, her hands clutching each other in front of her.  
“Um...I'm just going to get dressed, so enjoy your meal, I'll be back for the tray shortly.” She paused, almost expecting him to make a quip about not calling him shortly, but he only looked at her quizzically from behind his glasses, his mouth moving as he chewed his food. Jamie swallowed and forced a smile to her lips. “Er...enjoy your breakfast...” She fled, unable to think of anything sensible to say. 

He looked at her, reading her conflicting emotions in her face and body language and wasn't surprised when she fled the room as if chased by hellhounds. Whoever she had been expecting to wake up in this bed, he wasn't it. Apparently 'Mitch' was able to speak and had all his faculties, and knew who she was. He didn't. He turned back to the tray, surprised to find he'd eaten almost everything on it.  
Time to find out if he could walk. He braced his hands on the side of the bed and lifted himself upright, wobbling a bit but soon becoming stable. The sheet dropped away and he stood there, naked, checking out his body for the first time. He frowned and reached his fingers up to touch the pattern of scarring apparent on his torso and legs, wondering what on Earth he'd done to acquire those. Car accident? Polar Bear? Some sort of crazed knife attack? Whatever it was, it had been some time ago as the wounds had healed and no longer hurt. He looked at his hand and noticed a scar in the center of the palm where something had gone right through to the other side, but not so long ago as the others. What the hell was he, to have accumulated so many mementos? Was he some sort of adrenaline junkie prone to accidents? He longed to see what his face was like, his fingers only recording his features and growth of beard. In the corner, far from the light, he saw a long mirror standing up against the wall, so he slowly made his way over there, switching on the main room light as he went. Reaching the mirror he stood and stared at his body, at his large feet and hairy legs, scarred thighs, bushy groin, his genitals, his scarred, hairy torso, bearded chin liberally salted with grey and finally his face, topped by a mop of wayward dark hair. Not exactly an attractive package, so maybe he had a winning personality to make up for the lack of looks. He certainly appeared to be a great deal older than her, a little paunchy, adequate equipment but nothing to write home about. No wonder the poor girl was crying. He'd cry too, if only he could remember something worth crying about. His inventory complete, he turned from the mirror and stepped over to the window, pulling up the blinds to look outside. Dawn wasn't far off, the stars above bright in a clear sky. He seemed to be in a house which was in a street with other houses, no lights showing in any of them, no street lights either. They couldn't be near any towns because there was no light pollution in any direction, which he'd expect even if only from streetlights. The fact he was even considering towns and streetlights showed he hadn't forgotten everything, but he couldn't make much sense of anything and had no idea of time or place. The woman would be his best source of answers, but how was he to ask the questions? He made a cursory search of the room, finding the drawers and cupboard full of clothes, some obviously belonging to a more substantial man than himself, and a decade out of date. The rest seemed to fit him, so he found underwear, a pair of jeans, a long sleeve white t-shirt, and got dressed, not bothering with socks or boots for now. He still wanted to have that shower, but his curiosity won out over personal hygiene. Feeling more in control, but still none the wiser, he left the bedroom and stepped into the hallway. The house lights were on so he padded down the hall to the kitchen and living room, peering into rooms as he went past them. The rest of the house looked as ordinary as the bedroom, the decorating style a little old fashioned but not tatty, the furniture serviceable but not flashy. The sky was starting to lighten outside so he went to the ranchslider and pulled the glass door open, stepping out onto the wooden deck beyond. Leaning on the wooden rail he stared out over the garden and all around. The sky overhead was a wonder to behold, the milky way looking so clear and colorful he felt he could touch it. There was a slight breeze, cool against his face, no hint of moisture in the air. In the distance he could just make out high ridges clothed in darkness, featureless and mysterious. He listened and could hear a few birds warming up for the dawn chorus, but no sound of any vehicles. Earth was a twenty four hour planet, with people working night shifts, traffic always going back and forth, trucks travelling twenty four seven along the highways. Here there was nothing, no cars, trucks or anything mechanical, just the increasing swell of birds chirping and singing to welcome the sun.  
“It's not safe to stand outside like this.” Her voice behind him made him jerk in surprise. “You should come inside.”  
He turned to look at her, noting she was now completely covered from neck to feet, the filmy night attire a distant fantasy. She fidgeted under his gaze, her eyes flicking across the deck to the garden beyond, then to left and right as if expecting something to leap at them out of the darkness.  
“Please, you really need to come inside now.” She insisted, her body language screaming a tenseness that seemed out of proportion to the circumstances. He pushed off from the railing and walked back into the house past her. As soon as he passed the threshold she had the sliding door shut and locked behind him.  
“I've got some things for you to use while your voice is gone. I don't know if it will come back, you're the doctor here, not me.”  
He stopped in shock when she dropped that bomb on him, he was a doctor? Medical, psychiatric, scientist, what? She went to the round dining table and sat on the far side, indicating he take the seat opposite her. On the table was a lined notepad and a pen.  
“I thought if you can't speak, you might be able to write. That way you can ask me any questions and I'll do my best to answer them.” She was still tense, but now it wasn't to do with what was outside, but more to do with her feeling uncomfortable around him. He sat down slowly and pulled the notepad over, picking up the pen in his fingers, automatically using his right hand. He pressed the pen against the paper and drew a line, shaky at first but soon it was straight. Next, he tried to write the alphabet, starting with 'a'. His hand started to shake as he concentrated, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, beads of sweat forming on his upper lip. Closing his eyes he tried to relax, letting his hand move the pen without conscious volition, his brain bringing the image of the letter 'a' to his mind's eye. When he opened his eyes and looked down a wobbly, a recognizable first letter of the alphabet was scrawled on the paper. It was too big and at an angle, but it was a letter. He felt a flood of relief, his eyes lifting to meet the woman's wide bluey-green eyes across the table. She sent him a tentative smile of encouragement, her hands held up against her lips, her elbows resting on the table top.  
“Try again,” she said, not moving.  
He flipped the used page over and tried again, working on relaxing his tense fingers and wrist, letting the pen sit loosely in his grip and softly on the page, this time he was able to form a circle relatively easily, followed by a series of circles, each one better than the last. On a roll, he started the next line with a triangle, then the next with squares, his confidence building as his hand steadied and the lines filled with any character or shape he could bring to mind. He had a distant memory of performing the same sort of exercise when he was very young and learning to write at school. He filled another page, then another, each effort becoming easier with repetition until he felt comfortable with the pen in his hand. He was just finishing the third page when a slender hand landed on his, breaking his concentration.  
“Let's take a rest. Would you like something to drink? We have power for the kettle and coffee if you'd like a cup?”  
He looked over at her quizzically, why would she bother mentioning something so commonplace as electricity and coffee? Jamie ignored his questioning look and got up to go into the kitchen. He looked down at the pad and turned over a fresh page. While the usual sounds and smells filled the kitchen, he doodled and sketched, drawing something that his mind seemed able to bring up clearly. By the time the woman had returned to the table with two mugs of hot coffee, he was putting the finishing touches to his picture. She sat down, as before, opposite him and pushed the mug over so he could reach it. In reply, he pushed the pad over to her and tapped on the picture.  
He watched her expressive face for her reaction, seeing her eyes widen as she looked at his drawing.  
“Is this the earliest you remember?” she asked, looking up at him across the table.  
He shrugged, not at sure of anything, only knowing that she wasn't the woman he'd drawn.

Jamie stared down at the domestic scene he'd drawn and fought hard to keep her tears at bay. The pad shook in her fingers as she ran her eyes over the two figures that clearly portrayed Audra Morgan, as she would have been at the time of this memory, and a baby sized Clementine sitting in a high chair. He'd even included his hand in the picture, showing a wedding ring on his left hand. When she looked up he expressly pointed to the finger missing its ring.  
“You were divorced roughly nineteen years ago.” She explained. “This is a picture of your wife, as she was then, Audra and your daughter, Clementine. Audra is dead, but your daughter is still alive and has just had a baby boy, your grandson.”  
He looked thunderstruck, whether from the first bit of her explanation or the last, she couldn't tell. If his memory had been wiped from this time forward, God help him. He took the notepad back and stared down at the picture. Jamie watched him, sipping her coffee to give herself something to do.  
He flipped the page over, his mouth set in a grim line. Laboriously he wrote a sentence, letting out a breath when he finished. He turned the pad around for her to read.  
“Where are we? A small town called Blythe in Riverside County, California, situated in the Colorado River valley to the east of Los Angeles and west of Phoenix. We're in part of the Sonoran Desert here, with hot days, warm nights and lots of palm trees.”  
He stared at her, clearly perplexed by her matter of fact answer. He gulped down a mouthful of his coffee and started to write again, the script flowing more easily with each letter he penned. He held up the pad for her to read again.  
“Who are you and who am I? Well, that's the question, isn't it?” She felt like laughing but swallowed the urge down. “You are Mitch Morgan, you were a Veterinary pathologist for the Los Angeles Zoo and guest Lecturer at UCLA. You are a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and have a P.h.d in clinical pathology, licensed to practice in California. More recently you were a member of an International task force for the IADG researching animal mutations around the world. You created a cure ten years ago and we thought that was the end of our problems. Unfortunately, that was only the start.” She paused to take a drink of her coffee, her eyes darting up to see what his reaction was to her dissertation on his professional life. He was watching her impassively. He pointed to her. Jamie drew in a steadying breath.  
“My name is Jamie Campbell, I'm a former journalist and we met about thirteen years ago when I was researching a company called Reiden Global and you were looking into why a pair of lions had escaped their enclosure and attacked people in the city. We were both then recruited to the IADG Taskforce, and we've been together, on and off ever since. We came here to Blythe together and have been here a little over three months.” She deliberately kept her descriptions unemotional, to avoid any awkwardness. His next question blew that idea out of the water.  
She looked at the line of ragged words and blushed.  
“We are...we have been working together closely for the last five months or so.” He shook the page at her, demanding an honest answer. She looked up and met his eyes, her own swimming in tears.  
“We are everything to each other.” She jumped up and shouted at him. “We love each other, is that what you want to hear? We saved each other in so many ways, and this, here, this was like our reward for so much patience and worry and pain.” she drew in a shuddering breath. “And now you don't remember anything but your dead ex-wife and baby daughter who has grown up and has her own child.” She clapped her hands over her face to shut herself up. Seconds later she dropped her hands and turned to leave the room, her heart hammering in her chest. She'd said too much. 

He let her go. 

So, not his sister. Good to know. 

If what she said was true, and there was no reason to think she was lying, he was a helluva smart guy, had a Ph.D. no less. Had even saved the world, apparently. Shame he couldn't remember that.  
And shame he couldn't remember his feelings for her. Jamie, she called herself, sweet name. It suited her. He liked her, and his body obviously remembered her, his initial reaction explained in spades. But he didn't feel anything else, which worried him. If they had been everything to each other, as she said, you'd think something of that would remain. And why the fuck were they sitting in such an out of the way place as Blythe when Los Angeles was just over the range, with all that had to offer. Did he lose his job at the zoo? She mentioned this task force thing, was that his full-time job now? Where did he live? Did she normally live with him, at his place? The questions kept piling up, one on top of the other, in a seemingly ever-growing heap. He stared out of the dining room window, the sun having snuck up into the sky while they were occupied. He got up from the chair and went to look out over the garden. The grass was rank with weeds and long growth where a lawn should have been, and mostly dead. Why hadn't anyone mown or watered the garden? Despite her previous edict, he opened the ranchslider again and stepped out, this time padding across the deck and going down the short flight of steps to the path that led around the front of the house. Everywhere was evidence of neglect with dead plants, untrimmed growth and windblown rubbish caught in among the long stalks. He reached the front of the house and looked out over the dirt to the footpath and road. If he could have articulated he would have said something along the lines of “What the fuck happened here?”  
The road was covered with a layer of dust and grit, the gutters full of sand. All the houses up and down the street had the same look of neglect and abandonment, some with broken windows, some with messed up dead gardens, letterboxes laying on the ground, garage doors open to the elements. It reminded him of the fifties ghost towns created to test atomic bombs on, the only things missing were the mannequins to represent the people. He heard a bark and looked to the right to see a pack of dogs coming down the middle of the road, the animals veering off to disappear into one of the properties. Having seen enough he turned to go back into the house, looking up to the roof only to see a series of solar panels and a wind turbine merrily turning, the source of power for the house. A quick circuit of the building revealed two great big plastic rainwater collecting tanks and a couple of gas bottles hooked up to provide water and cooking. His mini tour complete he once more entered via the ranch slider. Jamie was waiting for him, her eyes red, but dry, her body drawn in upon itself, like a defensive hedgehog, but cuter.  
He sat down at the table and drew over the pad. When it was held up, Jamie read the few words carefully worked on the sheet.  
“Tell you the truth,” she repeated what he'd written. “Tell you the truth. Where do I start? How far back do you want to go?” She looked over at him. “I'll start from when we first met.” She shifted in her chair. “We need to be somewhere more comfortable, this is going to take some time.” she got up and went into the lounge, settling herself in one of the easy chairs, her feet tucked under her. He got up and padded after her, rolling his name around on his tongue and in his brain, hoping that knowing it might trigger some memories, but everything remained largely blank. Sitting on the sofa, he waited for her to start.

Jamie drew in several steadying breaths, then started her story from the very beginning.  
“We first met at the Los Angeles Zoo lion enclosure in late August, two thousand and fifteen, you were taking a sample of scat in an attempt to understand why two lions, brothers, bred in captivity had decided to suddenly escape and attack some men outside a bar not far from the zoo.....”  
He watched her retell their first meeting, her gaze unfocused as she relived their adventure with some cats in Brentwood, of meeting the governor, of visiting her mother's grave and onwards. One hour turned in to two and still she continued to relate their lives, now part of a group with a single purpose, that to his ears sounded like it bordered on science fiction, not reality. He couldn't imagine himself traveling around the world looking for wayward animals, then experimenting on them, or trying to capture them. As the story unfolded it got more and more bizarre, like a bad movie, then when the plane fell into their possession he gave up trying to rationalize when she was saying, it had become too unbelievable to take on board. He felt that she knew this, but plowed on anyway. Another hour went by, but now things had jumped ahead ten years and his daughter was a grown woman, and he'd been found in a stasis tank in Siberia. If he hadn't seen the scars on his own body, that related to the supposed hybrid attack on the mythical island, he'd have dismissed it all as a strange fantasy plot for a novel she was writing. 

Jamie got up at one stage to get a glass of water, her throat dry from all the talking. She couldn't tell how much was making an impression, his face giving nothing away. When he looked like that he forcefully reminded her of Charles Duncan at his worst, unemotional and cold. She understood that from his perspective what she was telling him probably sounded like some twisted conspiracy fantasy from a trashy novel, but she had no other way of bringing him up to date. With the glass at her side she settled back into the chair and restarted her narrative. When the story arrived at Blythe, Mitch sat forward, the better to concentrate on what she was telling him. When she stopped talking, she finally looked up and met his eyes staring back at her, a frown pulling his dark brows together, his mouth pressed into a straight line. She had purposely left out most of her interaction with Duncan, keeping only to the facts and avoiding all the messy emotional stuff. Now she looked into his brown eyes and wondered if she'd made the right choice.  
He abruptly stood up and left the room, leaving Jamie to sip her water and give in to her nerves, shaking silently in the over cushioned armchair. She'd given him a ton of stuff to digest and process, not surprising that he needed time to come to terms with it. 

To keep busy she went to the bedroom to strip the bed and get the washing machine going. She had heard the shower go on, then off, the bathroom door shut. Switching on the machine, she left it to go through its cycle and went back to the kitchen to get herself something to eat. She hadn't felt like anything that morning, butterflies and nerves making her nauseous. Now she was ravenous and made up a plate of cool salad items mixed with some hard-boiled eggs. That reminded her that she needed to go to the chook house to feed and water the chickens, then go to the feed station and take care of the cats and dogs. Fucktard came in through the cat door and proceeded to rub around her legs before jumping on to the table to watch her eat. She didn't bother to shoo him off, her mind caught up in ruminations over Mitch. It was almost strange to call him by his name because, like Duncan, he was so not like the man she'd known. It remained to be seen if his memories returned at some later point, and when they did, would they include his time as Duncan and that personalities time with her. She blushed hotly when she recalled exactly what she and Duncan had done together, not once but several times. Maybe it would be better if Mitch didn't remember that after all. Trying to explain the emotional ramifications of their relationship was a can of worms she was happy to leave untapped. Mitch would need time and patience. His voice was another problem she was loathed to address. Was that a side effect of the bio-drive malfunction? She had to assume it was. Maybe the wretched device had burned out some part of his brain that handled language and speech, the likeliest explanation, but he could still write so communication wasn't impossible, just difficult. The remains of her meal sat in front of her, Fucktard taking her in attendance as an invitation and polishing off what remained, eggs and veggies and all. 

He stared at himself in the mirror and approved of what he saw. The beard was gone, his chin once more clean-shaven, his squared-off sideburns were back and his hair tamed to only reach his collar, the bathroom floor evidence of the use of some clippers. Even his eyebrows had been given a grooming. He couldn't know it but he looked just as Jamie had first seen him at the LA zoo. No longer the front singer in a rock band, but back to the 'guest lecturing professor at UCLA' look. Crouching down, he swept as much of the hair into the bin as he could with just his hands. Standing up again he stared hard at his reflection, repeating his name to himself over and over as if to force the Mitch Morgan she described to put in an appearance. Instead, he saw only himself, a man with no memory in a town with no people. Except one. Jamie Campbell.  
He was convinced she'd left out a ton of stuff, particularly about her relationship with his alter-ego  
Charles Duncan. If he was picky, he'd say she glossed over most of their interactions pretty lightly, only detailing what Duncan had been doing while they were separated, the house included. It made him want to know more. 

Jamie could feel her mouth drop open when he finally re-appeared, his shorter hair and clean shaven appearance a million miles away from Duncan, and almost as distant from the Mitch she'd come to know, but it was a starting point, one she would just have to come to terms with. She didn't know this man, and he didn't know her, so both were starting fresh with a clean slate, sort of.  
She knew everything, he knew nothing, had no memories and couldn't speak. Kind of an uneven balance, but time would solve some of that. But what would she do if his memories never returned, a little voice asked her. She mentally slammed the door on that problem and faced the man in front of her.  
“You look....fresher,” she said at last. He went to the table and leaned over to write something on the notepad. He pushed it over towards her.  
She read. “I look more like the me I remember if that makes any sense.”  
She nodded. “It does. You look like you did when we first met,” she told him. She heard the washing machine ping and went to attend to it, but her arm was caught in his hand. He held her there while he wrote on the pad.  
“When will you tell me about all the stuff you left out?”  
She read that with a sinking heart. Mitch had always been too smart for his own good. She looked up into his eyes. “Probably never.”  
He reared back and let her go. Those two simple words told him of a world of hurt. It told him that she had already decided that the man, or men that she'd known before, that had inhabited his body, were lost to her, might as well be dead. If his memories didn't return, she was probably right to think that. Memories and experience were what made up a person's personality, without that lifetime frame of reference, the reboot had to make do with what they learned about their past combined with the new memories they created. For the people that had known the former incarnation, that was like their friend or relative had died. That meant Jamie Campbell was grieving for what she'd lost. Hardly surprising that she would keep the more intimate details of her relationship with Mitch Morgan and Charles Duncan to herself. In his present situation, those details meant less than nothing to him. As far as he, Mitch, was concerned, he'd lost a huge chunk of his life, at least twenty years, give or take, and now had to start again from scratch. For the time being, he'd stick around and learn what he could from Jamie, but before long he knew that his continued presence would only serve to cause her more and more pain, and he'd have to leave. 

For now, though, he'd stick around and find out more about this new and strange world. 

Jamie kept her eyes peeled for any sign of a return of the hybrids. Duncan had only told her a little about what had happened before he collapsed, but it seemed that they had both been inspected by the creatures and possibly accepted by the pack. As what, she had no idea, but they had left the humans to live, unharmed, and that was good enough for her. With the laundry taken care of, she went to pack up the truck to do the rounds. Mitch came out, now with boots on, and watched her load up the trailer with chicken feed, pet food, and fill the water container as well. She now wore a weapon strapped to her thigh, her constant companion, along with the small cache of weaponry she kept in the truck.  
“I have to go and tend to the animals. Want to come along?” she asked. Mitch nodded. He climbed into the passenger side and waited while she checked everything was secure as well as the house. Fucktard sat on the deck railing and watched them leave. Jamie chose to use the cat as a conversation starter.  
“You named him Fucktard,” she told him.  
“I named him what?” he held up his notepad for her to read while looking at her as if she was insane.  
“Fucktard. You said it was so when you swore at him he'd know it was meant for him, and he'd take notice.”  
“He's a cat. They don't take notice of anyone.” He wrote, the letters a bit wobbly from the jostling of the truck.  
Jamie shrugged. “True. Here's your...I mean the chook house. You set this up to keep the chickens protected from predators.”  
As this was her first time here, she was as interested to see it, as was Mitch himself. The sound of the birds seemed unnaturally loud without anything to diffuse it. Jamie led the way around to the side of the single level house, seeing the gate that would give them access. She hefted the bag of feed under her arm to allow her to unlock the padlock securing the door. As soon as she stepped through, she was mobbed by chickens galloping up to her, swarming around in anticipation of being fed. Mitch followed, careful not to let any of the noisy birds out when he shut the mesh door behind them. Jamie was already filling the many troughs scattered around the property, the hens following her, clucking and squawking, the air redolent of dirt and chicken poop. There was water tank with a hose and she ran this out to clean out and refill the water bowls placed at intervals, mostly in the shade, around the fenced garden. The chores done, she picked up one of a multitude of baskets near the open back door to the house and went up the steps. Every door and window in the house was open, a brisk flow of air helping to ventilate the rooms and dispell some of the smell. Everything and anything was being used as a next site or roost, the search for eggs an adventure all on its own. The aim wasn't to harvest all of the eggs, just enough to serve their needs. The rest would be left to hatch and increase the flock. Jamie had seen several books on raising poultry back at the house, Duncan having found them at the library to help him set it all up. Protected from marauding cats, dogs, and other predators, the chickens were thriving. Jamie, with Mitch in tow, left the wire mesh enclosure and returned to the truck. Mitch reached for the notepad.  
“I set this all up?” he asked. Jamie nodded.  
“It's our only source of animal protein right now,” Jamie explained, backing the truck and trailer onto the road and heading out to attend to the feeding station. “When we get to the feeding station, please stay in the truck. As Mitch or Duncan you were reasonably proficient with a weapon, right now I don't know if you even know how to hold one, so please, just keep watch, for now, okay?”  
He nodded again, agreeing with what she said, for now. She was greeted with the usual enthusiasm at the feeding station, Jamie cleaning out and refilling the water troughs, then filling the feed bowls all around. She kept a wary eye on the animals, not wanting to be caught out again by ignoring the signals that hybrids were around, but nothing untoward happened and she got back in the truck with a relieved, gusty sigh.  
“Right, all done. I'll take you back to the airport, rather than the house, if you're up for that?”

He nodded once more, feeling like one of those noddy dogs that used to be popular on the back windows of cars. He twitched to reach for the pad and ask a shit load of questions but decided to just sit back and let Jamie concentrate on driving instead. She took a roundabout route through the township of Blythe to give him a look at the place, his first impression one of surprise at its size, and depression at its state of neglect and lack of life. Jamie wasn't hurrying, driving at below the standard speed limit, but he was glad. It gave him a chance to take in and start to relate her narrative with the reality around them. He'd hardly known what to believe when she'd first told him about the state of the world, the barrier wall, and the almost-impossibly-to-believe-they-are-real hybrids. He was torn between being disappointed and relieved that they saw no sign of the formidable beasts when they pulled up behind the large hanger at the airport.  
They left the truck and trailer parked outside and entered the hanger itself. Mitch felt his jaw drop at the size of the plain up close. It was one thing to be told about it another to see it and touch it. Jamie let down the rear loading ramp and they walked into the expansive bay.  
“You don't have to remove any of your gear as you haven't been doing anything.” She opened a door and waved him through. “I'll be with you in a minute. Go. Explore.”  
He hesitated, then lifted his chin and headed into the interior of the plane. It was like entering an incredible wonderland of strangeness and excitement. After passing through and past a couple of areas the interior opened out into the two-storey laboratory, a few animal tanks scattered around, interspersed with scientific equipment, computer stations, all manner of paraphernalia, a gurney and too many other things he couldn't put a name to. Looking up he saw a balcony that ran around the upper level on both sides leading off, he assumed to living and eating quarters. It was fantastic. Jamie joined him, sans boots and jacket, and padded towards a glassed room that contained stacked screens and was obviously a central communications hub. She switched everything on and waited for the screen to come up with their expected displays. The security feeds showed the Beechcraft plane sitting exactly where they left it, the undercarriage surrounded by mini sand dunes and wind-blown debris. Jamie decided she'd check on the few days she'd missed later, opening up skype to see if anyone had been trying to contact them. There was a message from Abe and she read it quickly. It set up a time for them to speak face to face, so she set herself a reminder and left it at that. Mitch was watching everything she did from over her shoulder, his presence both reassuring in its normalcy, but also unsettling because he was so silent.  
“I'm going to check on the upper floor. We've been gone several days and stuff will need to be cleared out. I'll give you a brief tour shortly.” There was no question or hesitance in her voice, and he didn't attempt to detain her. After she whisked herself away, he wandered back into what he supposed was his lab, and walked around to see the occupants of the various tanks. There weren't many, but enough to make him wonder about the woman he was with. Scorpions, snakes, jellyfish to name a few, plus a freezer with an assortment of body parts he didn't want to start having to identify. He found what seemed to be a workstation with a screen, keyboard and a laptop beside it. He opened the laptop and the splash screen came up with an image of a group of people. He recognized himself and Jamie, but none of the others. He looked relaxed and happy, a big smile on his face, while Jamie was looking up at him, similarly smiling. There was no text on the image to tell him when or where it was taken, or why, it only raised more questions. The laptop had minimal security, but still required a password, which stalled his progress.  
“Clementine.” Jamie's voice floated down to him, but she was gone when he looked up at the balcony. He entered the name and the screen cleared. Typing was very much easier than laboriously writing. He'd have to remember to ask if there was a tablet or similar around for him to use. He didn't even query how he knew how to use either modern bits of technology, too eager to use it then wonder how he remembered to.  
He went to the most recent file opened, a text document, and opened it. His ability to know his way about the screen was not impeded either by his mutism or lack of recent memories. The document was in the form of a diary which his former incarnation had started to write to try and understand the different memories he had when he returned from being the Charles Duncan that Jamie had told him about, another fantastical story that he had trouble understanding or believing. Yet, here was the evidence. This Mitch started off by detailing in a purely scientific way what had led up to the incident, then laying out what he knew for a fact were his own memories, against those he couldn't reconcile with any point of reference, concluding they much belong to his other personality. It was so completely fucked up but also fascinating to read, as it was written by himself, or at least his former self.  
Jamie appeared and suggested he bring the laptop and come up to the upper level to be more comfortable and have something to eat. He was surprised at how much time had passed since they'd first come aboard, his stomach growling in protest at the number of hours since breakfast.  
Once set up in the lounge, sitting in a comfortable seat with the laptop plugged in, he sipped at the hot drink Jamie provided and continued to read. The narrative had changed to the new personality of Charles Duncan, who wrote in a quite different way to his predecessor. The sentences were short and unemotional, for the most part. They also had an edge of sarcasm to them, Duncan sniping about his, Mitch's, continued influence on Jamie, of the impossible ghost between them. The entries from Duncan weren't as long or as descriptive at Mitch's, but they held a wealth of hidden emotional indicators that his feelings for Jamie weren't as antagonistic as he'd like to keep them. The last entry almost seemed to be somewhat of an apology – for his behavior, his attitude and the fact he wasn't the man she truly wanted. It seemed that Jamie had tamed the beast that was Charles Duncan. To have done that would have required a great deal more than the short episode she had used to describe her relationship with the man. It irked him that she'd chosen to edit her version of events, keeping him, the latest incarnation of himself, in the dark about their true relationship. He couldn't explain why it irked him, just that it did. She had a right to her privacy, and he had no real desire to hear the nuts and bolts of her intimate moments with either man, Mitch or Duncan.  
He paused in his thinking, laughing at himself for thinking of the original Mitch as someone separate from himself, the same with Duncan. Both men were him, and he was them. Shit, could life get any more complicated?  
The only common denominator between all three of them was the woman currently seated a meter away from him, flipping through the television channels to find the latest news. He wondered if she'd taken the time to read any of the journal entries, but he decided she probably hadn't. Mitch's early entries had all been used to note the various memories he couldn't remember as his, which made for interesting but hardly page-turning reading. Only the later entries, by Duncan, shed a more intimate and emotionally charged interpretation of their relationship. He shut the lid of the laptop and put it aside. There was no more for him to read and he needed time to assimilate what he had.  
Jamie had once more read his mind and produced a tablet device that he could use to communicate with, tapping out his questions and answers on the screen. Again, he surprised himself with the ease that he was able to understand and use the relatively modern equipment with the minimum of explanation from Jamie. Apparently despite only having memories from over a decade ago, his body and conscious mind were firmly in the present when it came to using what was available to aid his situation.  
Sweet.  
He tapped out a question and held out the tablet. Jamie glanced over at him and took it, reading the question before passing it back.  
“We'll stay here a little longer then go back to the house.” She told him. “We left Fucktard there, so I want to collect him, but I thought we could sleep here tonight unless you want to stay at the house?”  
He shook his head, then wrote again. Jamie read it and passed the tablet back.  
“If you want to stay here, that's fine, but don't be tempted to wander around out there. The hybrids are still out there and they've proved time and again they can appear without warning. We were lucky in our last encounter, but I don't want to push it. If for any reason I don't get back here tonight, do not come looking for me, understand?”  
He shrugged, fighting to keep his initial reaction to her orders from showing in his body or face. He was the stranger here, she the experienced and capable resident. He'd be a fool to go against her advice just because her high-handedness rubbed against his ego. Mitch the first had got along with her fine, and even Duncan seemed to have resolved any issues he had with her, and it was unlikely her behavior had markedly changed in the last few days, so he would just have to learn, as the others did, that Jamie Campbell was a woman of independent mind, tougher than her slight frame indicated, and knew her way around difficult and dangerous situation way better than he currently did. She was also very used to giving commands with the expectation that they would be followed. His resentment would just have to take a holiday.

He followed her to the loading bay, his finger on the button to raise the ramp once she was gone. Jamie turned and waved at him, a slightly forlorn gesture in his opinion, but he raised his hand anyway, watching until she disappeared through the door to the outside before thumbing the button to seal the back of the plane. Now it was time for him to really explore.

He stood in the doorway of the bedroom and surveyed the wreckage. The bed had obviously been the site of a sexual battle of monumental proportions, the pillows and sheets all awry, towels on the floor and was that a length of chain hanging from the side there? He had a sudden thought and went back to the lab for a couple of items. Returning to the bedroom he turned on the black light and shone it on the bed. The linens lit up like the fourth of July. Hells bells this bed had seen some serious sexual action, and recently. Turning away he went to the room across the hall, the bed there as rumpled as the other. Again he shone the light on the bed covers and again they were illuminated like fairy lights, another scene of excessive carnal lusts. Given that the girl had been knocking boot with Charles Duncan, they hadn't hated each other all that much at all. So much for her passionate declaration that she and Mitch Morgan were everything to each other. Love obviously had a completely different meaning to one Jamie Campbell – a slut in the finest tradition. He clicked off the light, a rage building inside him that he couldn't or didn't want to control. Carefully placing the black light torch on the top of a chest of drawers, he approached the bed, gripping the top sheet in his fist and winding it around his wrist, bringing a bunch of fabric to his nose to inhale the scent lingering there. Sure enough, it was her, his body reacting to the earthy aroma and springing to attention with flattering speed. His thoughts turned dark as he imagined those breast that had teased him under the thin nightdress, in his hands, and under his mouth, her body splayed across the rumpled bed sheets in abject submission, her slender, delicate hands roaming over his body as she pleaded with him to be gentle. His memory let him down when it came to imagining the actual act, his imagination only able to go so far. His body might have enjoyed Miss Campbell's delights, but his mind had no such easy familiarity. 

Maybe he should remedy that.


	11. Making the Impossible, Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch catches up while Jamie goes downhill

When Jamie returned to the airport, it was getting on for dark, the sky overcast but with little likelihood of rain. She hadn't meant to leave it so late, but she had turned her excuse of picking up Fucktard, into a scavenging run that included new linen for the beds she and Duncan had used on the plane, and fresh food supplies. Fresh being a relative term. She had collected whatever fresh produce was left at the house, as well as new cat food and litter tray material for the cat. She had also stopped off at the pharmacy to get herself something for nausea. She hadn't been sick, just felt she had an upset stomach, probably caused by all that had been going on and her tendency to be rather a watering pot lately. She did have some excuse for her highly emotional state, grieving over the loss of Duncan, and her original Mitch, but that was not going to help her.

He heard the ramp go down after the excessive rattle and screech of the hanger door sliding open to allow the truck to enter. His afternoon had been spent quite productively, researching what he could on his own condition of mutism. After that, with a bit of snooping around, he found some files that seemed to be about the bio drive he'd had in his head. Along with photos of the device, after he did a search on the database for anything associated with the word bio drive, he had collected together quite a comprehensive folder of information. If he understood some entries in Mitch's journal, the drive had been a failure when tested, causing the human trials to be abandoned, the test subjects driven mad or dying after implantation. So he, Mitch Morgan, had been living on borrowed time since the device was implanted some ten years ago, according to the information gleaned. Given how much tampering had been done to the bio drive with the attempt to remove it, then the failed attempt to disable it, followed by the reset that produced Charles Duncan, it wasn't entirely a surprise that the technology faulted again, this time doing what it was fated to do at the very least – erase his memory. He was lucky to be alive given the fate of all the previous recipients. With very little in the way of reference to how his other personalities behaved, and with Jamie not giving him any clues, he had to trust his own reactions and instincts to guide him.  
He looked around the laboratory, at the strange equipment and accumulated bits and pieces that presumably the original Mitch not only knew what they were, but how to use them, and decided his first challenge would be to re-educate himself about his supposed profession of Veterinary Pathologist, the skill set that originally recruited him to look into the problem with the animals.

Jamie found him upstairs in the lounge, the laptop on a small table pulled up to one of the comfortable chairs, a lead running to the mains to save the battery. He didn't look up when she padded into the kitchen and behind the bar, Fucktard following at her heels. The cat then wandered over to him and jumped on the arm of the chair, and hand coming up automatically to stroke the creatures head and back while Mitch's attention remained firmly on the text in front of him. Jamie didn't bother to interrupt Mitch's absorption in whatever he was reading, just mixed herself a drink and took a sip. Her face screwed up in distaste at the flavor, the smell of the drink not much better. Dismissing it as just something being off, she disposed of the drink and put the kettle on instead.  
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, receiving only a shake of the head in response. After spending a few moments making herself a simple cup of tea, Jamie left the lounge and wandered down the hall to the bedrooms. She winced when she stopped at the first, Duncan's, and saw the state it was in. Half an hour later and the bed was changed with the new sheets sets and once more neat, the bathroom tidied up and the towels changed. She couldn't remove the chains from the bed, but tucked them away out of sight, hoping that Mitch hadn't been through the room and seen it the way it was.  
Drinking the dregs of her now cold tea, she went to her room, grimacing at the state that was in as well. Tired, but determined, she stripped the bed, remade it, then carried the combined heap of dirty linens down the hall to the back of the plane where the laundry room was situated. She dumped the heap of sheets, pillowcases, towels, and covers beside the machine and left them there.  
Feeling wiped, she padded back to her room and changed out of her clothes into something soft against her skin. The t-shirt and harem pants were well worn and comfortable, without being too revealing. Taking her empty mug back to the lounge she found Mitch just as she'd left him, his brows drawn together in a frown of concentration, Fucktard the cat laying on the carpet at his feet, stretched out like a mini fur rug.  
Again, she didn't attempt to draw his attention or interrupt his reading, making herself a thrown together meal, poured a simple soft drink and took them both out of the room and down the stairs to her communication room off the lab. It would shortly be time to speak to Abe. 

“How are you, Jamie? You look tired.” Abe's friendly face and concerned look was almost her undoing.  
“I'm fine, Abe. Really. It's just been a bit full on here the last couple of days. We've had some run-in's with the local hybrids, plus there's been a rather major development.”  
On the screen, Abe leaned forward. “What has happened?”  
Jamie could feel her eyes prickling but fought to keep the tears away. “Mitch...well, Duncan had a seizure, like the one Mitch had, but worse. He had a nosebleed prior to seizing, then he was unconscious for two days, and when he woke up....he...he has no memory of anything prior to just after Clementine was born.”  
Abe looked suitable shocked and dismayed by her news. “No memory of you, of us?”  
Jamie shook her head. “He has no memory of himself, let alone of all of this.”  
“But it is good that he hasn't forgotten everything, he remembers Clem and his wife?”  
Jamie nodded. “He even drew a picture of them. It was sweet, but so tragic because the wife he knew is now dead and the world is completely different.”  
“I'm sorry for your loss, Jamie. What about his other functions, how developed is he?”  
“Oh, you mean can he feed himself and that stuff. He has all his necessary skills, he can even use a computer so I think that everything he knew how to do up to the moment he remembers is all there, only he can't talk and had to relearn how to write.”  
“Hhmmm. That is pretty serious. It could mean the bio drive has damaged a part of his brain relating to speech and coordination. Is he using his right hand when he writes?”  
“Yes. Mitch was right-handed, so that hasn't changed.”  
“Good. Considering that not all his memories were wiped, there's a chance, a slim one, that his memories will return in time. Don't give up, Jamie. You could still get your Mitch back.”  
“God, I hope so Abe. I miss him so much.”  
“Well. Let me tell you about what everyone has been up to, that will take your mind off your troubles....”  
Abe rumbled on about Jackson and his continuing quest to shut down the beacons, despite the hybrids expanding over the planet. He told of his, Abe's progress with the fertility trials and the advance of the few pregnancies that were a result of the trials. He related how Clementine and the baby, together with Sam, were still safe and had recently been moved to another secure location, but one less secluded to give Clem and the baby a better environment. He also told how Jackson had been reunited with his partner, Tessa, from when he was working in Portland, the couple reconciling after the revelation of Jackson real identity. Jamie listened to it all and smiled at hearing Abe's familiar voice. Despite a tendency to solitude, Jamie missed the gang.  
When Abe finally ran out of news, she spoke up.  
“I heard on the news that people are starting to escape to the west side of the Barrier to get away from the hybrids? Can I expect a visit from you guys anytime soon?” she teased.  
Abe laughed. “Don't be surprised. It's becoming like a military coup with curfews and barbed wire and soldiers everywhere. I know it's to protect the people, but it's becoming harder and harder to accept it.”  
“Well, there's plenty of room for everyone here. I can guarantee a free dog or cat for anyone who joins us.”  
They chatted a few minutes more then Abe signed off after setting another time for them to talk a few weeks away. When the screen went dark, Jamie stared at it for several long minutes, her mind mulling over what she'd learned, a feeling of creeping isolation making her shiver. Pushing herself to her feet, she felt unbelievably weary and decided to drag herself to bed.  
Mitch was gone from the lounge when she returned there, the cat gone as well. Padding down the hall, she knocked on his bedroom door before pulling it aside. He was laying, fully clothed, on the covers of the newly made bed, still perusing the laptop now perched on the bedside table. Fucktard was sprawled along the bottom, near to his bare feet.  
“I'm going to bed,” Jamie told him. “I've switched off the lights in the lab unless you were planning on going back there?”  
He shook his head, not looking up from the screen. Jamie sighed.  
“I'll say goodnight then.” She got a negligent wave as a response.  
Closing the door to his room, she dragged herself across to her own and slid the door open, closing it behind her before taking the few steps to her own bed and falling onto the crisp, fresh smelling sheets and closing her eyes. Bliss. 

He watched her go once her back was turned. She looked tired, weary almost. The t-shirt and flowy long pants clung to her limbs and slender frame lovingly, the fabric soft and well washed, obviously worn with nothing underneath. He had to allow that she didn't purposely wear the provocative clothing to get his attention, her body language telling him quite the opposite. She wore her most favorite clothing as a protection, a comfort not as an enticement, despite it having exactly that effect on him. If he was truly honest with himself he'd have to admit he was becoming just a little bit obsessed with the woman. Possibly that was because she was the only person in the lunatic asylum with him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend to not notice her each time she turned up. His body unfailingly reminded him that she was around by being permanently at half mast or worse, only his absorption in all things sciency able to make his body subside and control itself. Hence the laptop and his apparent fascination with its contents. He had to admit the subject was interesting and varied, his understanding of the terminology used illustrating that although his recent memory of events was gone, his base memory of what he studied in his twenties was still all there. He just needed to brush up on what he'd missed in the twenty years since Clementine was born. It seemed on the surface to be an impossible task, but given he had the basic knowledge still onboard, he could easily pick up the newest development and supplement his knowledge. In point of fact, the more he brought up on the screen, the easier he found he was able to assimilate it as if his brain was a muscle long neglected and the more he exercised it, the stronger it got, certainly as far as his scientific knowledge base went.  
On a personal level, he was still trying to get his head around the fact he'd missed out on twenty years worth of living, experiencing, fucking, eating and interacting with people. He wondered if he'd left a significant other behind when he joined up with the IADG? If he did, they obviously weren't that significant if he took up with Jamie Campbell a year or so later. He certainly felt cheated that he couldn't remember his interactions with her, either as Mitch the First, or Duncan the Second, as he was starting to think of them. They had both had the opportunity to know sweet Miss Jamie in all the ways that counted if her declaration and the bed sheets were to be believed. Only he, Mitchell Morgan the Third hadn't known that succulent country, his body rising just with the thought of it, of his mouth on those distracting tits with their eraser point nipples and sassy sway.  
He shut down the laptop and switched off the lights, his mind too occupied with other things to concentrate any more on furthering his knowledge. There was only one thing he wanted to further his knowledge on, and she was sleeping across the hall from him, encased in her new sheets, oblivious to the lustful thoughts she generated simply by breathing. He thrust his hand down his jeans and fondled himself through his boxers. Soon there wasn't room for his hand and his cock, so he unzipped his fly and pulled himself out into the cooler air, his fist wrapped around his hot flesh in a tight grip. In the gloom he could see a bead of moisture at the tip, his thumb swiping that over the crown. With firm, steady strokes he pulled on his cock, closing his eyes to remember the image of Jamie in the negligee, the firm swell of her breasts moving under the silky material, those damn nipples begging to be sucked, the smell of her skin when she moved so close to him wringing a groan from his throat as his hand moved faster, his buttocks clenching. Fucktard sent him a filthy look before jumping off the shaking bed to seek a less disturbed nest. Mitch felt the tingle of his orgasm moments before it crashed over him, his cock spurting over his jeans and bed cover, his hand well lubricated as he slowed his stroke before letting go completely. He wiped his hand off on his shirt, smiling when he thought of Jamie having to handle his spoof covered clothing when she did the laundry. Fuck he was a bastard. At length he got up from the bed and took off his clothes, leaving on his boxers, only to climb back into the bed, this time, and close his eyes. Everything smelt fresh and clean, Mitch rubbing his face over the cotton in pleasure. He'd much prefer to have a pair of peachy soft breasts to rub his face over, but he'd just have to be patient. After all, despite his loss of memory, he was still the one man she'd been jumping into bed with on a regular basis. She'd get the urge to scratch that itch again soon, and he'd be ready with his cock to oblige her.

Jamie could barely raise her head off the pillow, her eyes fighting to remain closed. She wondered if she was coming down with something, she was so tired and washed out. Maybe her wretched on-again-off-again erratic period was finally due. She'd already skipped a couple of months, but that was nothing unusual for her, it had been like that since forever. In past years she'd used the pill to give her some semblance of a normal cycle, but that had fallen by the way when the world was sterilized and the need for birth control became redundant. So her cycle, such as it was, could be notoriously fickle, sometimes occurring twice in one month, sometimes not appearing for two to three months before coming in like a flood and overwhelming every sanitary product known to man. She hadn't felt any of the usual precursors to her period, no headaches, no cramps, no lower back pain, so maybe she was worrying for nothing. Maybe she was just run down. Maybe even a little depressed. She pondered that as she lay in her bed, alone, and thought about the man who could, if circumstances were different, solve her depression with the application of a well-placed piece of manly equipment. Two pieces if you included his cock. Just thinking about that made her pull her bottom lip between her teeth, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the throb building there. She considered herself very lucky that she'd had the benefit of two most wonderful lovers in recent months, the tender passionate love of Mitch, then the rough and exciting lovemaking of Duncan. Now she had a stranger who, if he knew what wicked things she done with both of his previous incarnations, would think she was a very, very bad girl, and possibly want to punish her for taking such liberties with his body when he wasn't in it. Just the thought of Mitch laying the flat of his hand against any part of her anatomy was making her melt, her hand busy between her legs, her harem pants nice and stretchy to accommodate the activity. She clutched with her free hand at the pillow behind her head, her knees drawing up to provide the right amount of tension to bring her fantasy to its conclusion. His name was on her lips as a breathy sigh when her muscles contracted and she twitched through her climax, fingers soaked where they still circled, slowly, between her legs. Flopping back onto the mattress, she decided there was nothing that important she needed to get up early for, so she rolled onto her side and quickly fell asleep. 

When Jamie finally emerged she was ready to do some plane maintenance plus get on the hanger roof to check the aerials, solar panels and satellite dish after the sandstorm. She didn't tell Mitch that was what she was doing, just that she was going out to check on the plane. He was back in his chair reading over notes his predecessor had made regarding the hybrids evolutionary origins, a subject that he found increasingly absorbing. With his inability to talk, their communication was a truncated series of hand gestures and head nods. Jamie spoke, he nodded or waved a hand. That was it. The possibility of having a longer, more in-depth conversation was not going to happen unless he was able to prepare a list of questions and she showed the slightest interest in his company for longer than a minute at a time. Her avoidance strategies were getting complicated. He would laugh at her, then himself, if it would lift the cloud of awkwardness that had grown between them. He had no point of reference to what she was like before, but it had to have been better than what she was now – never coming within touching distance, never meeting his eyes for more than a second at a time, not engaging him in a conversation, despite the difficulties. Her invisible bubble of “keep the fuck away” was not very invisible. At least, to him.  
Now she'd gone to do stuff for the upkeep of the plane, whatever that meant. Probably check the air in the tires and oil the nuts. This time he did chuckle, Fucktard giving him a quelling look before resuming washing himself, ensconced as he was in the other chair.

Jamie sorted out the harness and put it on, checking the buckles were secure before heading for the built-in metal ladder that led up the wall and over the curve of the hanger roof to the narrow, flat apex. She hooked herself on and started up, placing each foot carefully, moving the clip onto the next section before moving, her toolbelt clinking with each step. Mitch or Duncan would usually stand at the base of the ladder, or come up to help carry extra wire or tools. Today she was alone. She was counting the steps under her breath, unclip, clip-on, step fourteen up, next foot up, unclip, clip-on...and so on it went until she was almost bent over onto hands and knees with the curve of the roof under her, the flat portion at the apex mere feet away. Once at the roof line board she clipped her harness onto the thick wire that extended from one end of the roof to the other, providing a safety line for anyone working up there. She approached the mixed installation bunched together at one end, held firm to the roof with a welded, upright pole, everything attached to that at some point. The dish looked a little sandblasted, but the wiring was double shielded so nothing was damaged, the UHF aerial looking good, as did the microwave receiver, all of the protective housing still intact. She then moved to where the twenty or so solar panels were laid, checking each one for damage to the glass or wiring or broken attachments to the roof frame. Her inspection complete, she sat on the narrow ridge board and surveyed the landscape around the hanger. Apart from the trooper station aerial tower and the smokestacks at the power plants, the hanger was the tallest building in the immediate area. The sky was still overcast from the previous day and a brisk wind blew cold air from the surrounding mountains down onto the plain. She lifted her gloved hand to shield her eyes from the sun and stared at the sunburnt landscape. As a place she'd choose to live, given the choice of anywhere and a world saner than the one she lived in, Blythe would not be on any list she could imagine making. It had a certain charm, and the views were awe-inspiring for sure, but there was a desolation that gnawed at her bones. It was probably more to do with her current feelings, if she was honest with herself, but it didn't help to know that an intelligent pack of hybrids was roaming the desert with a perfect camouflage and no fear of humans. Getting back down, she did the reverse of climbing up, starting off practically on all fours, then gradually returning to the vertical until she was on the ground. At the base of the ladder she had to take a moment to allow her head to stop swimming, her hands white-knuckled in their gloves where they gripped the rungs, her knees like jelly. When the rungs stopped dancing a jig in front of her eyes she let go of them and unclipped herself from the ladder. Taking off her safety helmet, she swiped at her forehead, her gloves coming back wet from the sweat gathered on her skin.  
“Must be something I ate,” she groused, forgetting that she hadn't eaten anything more than a couple of wizened apples and a muesli bar for breakfast. She walked back inside the hanger and deposited the tool belt on a workbench, then undid and stepped out of the harness. The helmet was next, along with the gloves. Next on her job list was bringing the water tanker around to hook it up to the plane to refill their water supply. After that it would be the turn of the other tanker, to empty the waste water and sewage storage tanks.  
Two hours later and she was dead on her feet, her knees almost buckling when she jumped down from the cab of the wastewater truck. She tossed the gloves onto the driver's seat and shut the door.  
Trudging up the ramp she was glad to kick off her heavy boots and overcoat, already picturing the hot shower waiting for her.

He heard her walking through the laboratory. She wasn't trying to be especially quiet but her socks absorbed most of the noise, the nearly silent shoosh of fabric against metal and sometimes a quiet sigh was all he could discern. He waited until he heard the sliding door to her room open and close, then he returned to his perusal of the files on the big screen. The laptop was all well and good, but there was nothing like seeing something expanded on the big screen. He was replaying the security footage of the hybrid attack on the Sullivans. He'd learned about their existence from one of Duncan's last entries in his computer journal. Now the grisly black and white footage was playing out on the big screen. He saw the moment the Sullivan siblings emerged from the Beechcraft, the man shooting at the alpha male, then walking towards it – a classic rookie mistake, followed by his sister. He kept watching when the rest of the hybrids pounced, first on the woman, then on the man, not looking away for a second while they were ripped apart. When it was all over he restarted the clip and watched it through again. After the third real-time viewing he started to mess with the speed, slowing the images down almost going frame by frame in some places. When the pack prepared to leave, he paused the frame that showed the alpha male staring directly into the camera. 

Their lives together devolved into a loose routine. Jamie would get up early, leave the plane to do whatever needed to be done, either at the airport or in town, then return at the end of a long day, take a shower, grab something to eat and disappear into her bedroom.  
Mitch would carry on with catching up on his lost years in regards his knowledge of the hybrids, what the IADG had been doing, what the team had done the first time the hybrids appeared, and subsequently ten years later. He had to catch up on world events that he'd forgotten, on changes of Presidents and other world leaders, on the constant battle against the hybrids invading human habitat remorselessly, the political and social changes brought about by the sterilization of all humankind. All of this he marched alongside the knowledge accumulated on the planes multitude of hard drives, the screens around him showing the information in great detail, his brain like a giant sponge, absorbing it all without filters or interruptions. He didn't know how he was doing it, he just knew that he was. Whatever the bio-drive had done to him in taking away his power of speech and memories, it had also benefitted him by allowing him to process information much faster than anyone should. He sometimes felt like he was devouring several libraries worth of literature, not only reading it but also understanding it and relating it to events and details past and present. It was heady stuff. But a genius cannot live on the written word alone, he also wanted to get his hands on a hybrid, get up close and personal with one. When he felt he was up to the task, he took out the specimens in the fridge and freezer and examined them with fresh eyes, starting his own journal of observations, while creating a radical database to access all the bits of information available and cross-reference, categorize, and catalog it for easy reference.  
When he wasn't doing that, he ate, he slept and he fantasized about Jamie Campbell. 

Something had to give. 

In his research of his condition, after seeing the recording of the intracranial operation and the footage of the positioning of the bio drive inside his head, he deduced that he had a form of conduction aphasia, a condition that could correct itself once the brain had repaired itself, or else had a high probability of, if not full reversal, at least a return to speaking with the support of speech therapy, treatments, and techniques. It all depended on the specific area affected by the bio-drive. Without access to a local speech therapist, he would have to design a computer programme to assist him in regaining his speech. Never once did he consider that Jamie would be able to help him regain his ability to communicate. She hadn't a tenth of his I.Q, she was just a journalist, after all. Oh, sure, she had performed brain surgery on him, but that was with him supervising her, and any fool can handle a drill. He dismissal of her was more due to muddled thinking than any real intended spite, he simply didn't consider her his intellectual equal. So he decided that his return to full use of his brain and voice would have to come from a computer he would create to do that for him. How hard could it be to build a computer? With that in mind, he asked her, a couple of days later, for the keys to the truck. 

Jamie stared down at the tablet, then back up at Mitch. “Why?”  
He frowned at her, having expected her to agree without questioning him. He snatched back the tablet and typed a suitably pithy response. Jamie read it and felt her face go pink with indignation. She looked up at him again. “Fine. I'll get the keys for you.” She handed the tablet back, spun on her heel and left the lounge. Mitch smirked at the cat, satisfied he'd won that particular battle. Jamie reappeared and dropped the keys on the breakfast bar with a loud clunk.  
“Try and bring it back in one piece. Of course, you do remember how to drive, don't you?” she asked sweetly.  
He opened his mouth to give her a blistering retort, but nothing but a faint croak emerged, making his face turn pink with embarrassment this time. He typed his reply then dropped the tablet on the chair and stalked off towards the loading bay.  
Jamie picked up the tablet and read the few words there. “Can't be that hard. You do it all the time.”  
When did Mitch turn into such a fat-headed, arrogant twat? If she had to choose between keeping this version of Mitch or having Duncan back at his supercilious best, she'd have chosen Duncan any day. 

He sat in the cab of the truck and stared at the controls. In his head, he ran through the short video he'd watched on a site called YouTube that seemed to archive a wealth of educational and instructive clips on everything imaginable.  
“Put the key in the ignition, turn it clockwise to start the engine. Put your foot on the brake pedal, then change the shifter into drive or reverse, depending on which direction you are wanting to go, when ready to move, put your thumb on handbrake button and release the brake. Take your foot off the brake pedal and push lightly on the accelerator pedal.”  
Fortunately for him, Jamie had left the truck outside the hanger, so he didn't have to worry about reversing, plus the trailer was unhitched, so he only had the truck to worry about. Hesitantly and jerkily, he drove the truck around the hanger and across the landing pad towards the access road leading to the highway. By the time he reached the highway he was confident he had driving down pat. Instead of driving into Blythe, he decided to explore and turned right for a change, heading west a few miles, passing truck stops, gas stations, and eateries, all set within the flat desert landscape and ten times more desolate than the airport. He paused the truck on the side of the road, considering his options. He pulled out the map book and perused what was up ahead. About an hour and a half away was the Salton Sea, further on from that Palm Springs. He checked the fuel level in the truck and knew he had the gas to do the trip, but would there be any point? He chewed on his lip for a moment, then looked at the map in the opposite direction, past Blythe to what was further east. For the same amount of traveling time he could reach Buckeye, a bit further and he'd be in Phoenix. If there were any people left in the area, they were most likely holed up in Phoenix, Arizona. Was he looking for company? Not really. Was he just wanting to piss Jamie off and make her worry about him being gone so long? Possibly. Was he going to analyze why that was? Nope, not a chance in hell.  
Turning the truck around he headed back towards Blythe, passing the airport as he went and barrelling into the township in a cloud of dust and simmering resentment. Why should he care if she worried about him? Was he hostage now to not only a slip of a girl but his predecessor ridiculous decision making? He'd have to think about that a bit more.  
He ransacked the Kmart for computer gear, then searched through the local phone directory for all the other computer stores in the town. Soon, the back of the truck contained a number of brown boxes of all sizes from his looting of several stores and private businesses that had either the hardware or the software he needed. Satisfied with his haul, he headed back out of town towards the airport. It was now well into the afternoon and he knew that Jamie would usually have been gone to do the feeding station and check on the chook house. His delay would throw her careful routine all out of whack, something that gave him a perverse delight. 

Jamie lay on her bed, her eyes closed but a long way from sleep. Beside the bed was a glass of water beside a jug, a plate of plain crackers next to that. Her nausea that morning was worse than it had ever been before, again not enough to make her throw up, but enough to make her start to think there was something seriously wrong with her. She heard the screech of the hanger door followed by the activation of the loading ramp, telling her that Mitch was back at last. It was the middle of the afternoon and she wondered where he'd gone to be away so long. Now that he was back she ought to get up and prepare to visit Blythe herself, but as soon as her head left the pillow the room started its mad carousel again and she simply had to stay down. If she had her laptop handy, she'd have investigated what the combined symptoms of vertigo and nausea could possibly mean, and was it fatal. Instead, she lay curled up on the covers, taking occasional sips of water and nibbling minutely at the edges of the crackers. Maybe if she could get Mitch to find her anti-nausea tablets she'd be able to get up and do what needed to be done. Meantime, she'd lay there, keep her eyes closed, and will it away, that should work, shouldn't it?

Jamie wasn't in the lab or the lounge, Fucktard exactly where he'd left him that morning. Robbed of seeing her face and gauging her reaction to his extended escape, he went back to the truck to unload his booty. An hour later and despite his banging about, sometimes deliberately, there was still no sign of the dratted woman. She wasn't deaf, and it was unlikely she'd still be sleeping in at this hour. He paused in opening another box. She had been looking increasingly washed out in the past week or so, her body lacking its usual level of energy, her face falling into a strained expression whenever she thought he wasn't looking. Was there something he was missing? Was she sick, and didn't want him to know? Was her distancing just a symptom that she was dealing with something larger, something that was eating away at her? Was she dying?  
Panic filled him, his heart setting up a rapid tattoo, his lungs working hard as he gasped at the possibility that she was going to leave him, and he had done nothing to help her or alleviate her suffering. He'd been the complete opposite, being surly, crass and a bully, ignoring the warning signs and leaving her to do all the heavy work around the place while he expanded his brain for no good purpose.  
Dropping what he was doing he took the stairs two at a time and hurried along to her room. He paused to give his heart a chance to stop its panicked thumping, then gently tapped on her door. There was no response so he tapped again, but when he heard nothing he pulled the door aside. The bedroom was only lit by the windows along the side, all the screens pulled down to mute the light from the outside. He saw her body lying still and quiet on the bed and his heart stopped. He padded over to the side of the bed and sat down, his hand automatically reaching to lay itself on her forehead. His heart started up again when his fingers registered the simple warmth of her skin. He noted the glass of water and plate of plain crackers, his brain instantly connecting the dots. He opened his mouth to tell her, but a strangled moan was all he was able to produce. 

Jamie opened her eyes at the strange sound and stared up at Mitch, sitting on the side of her bed.  
“What are you doing here?” she asked, forgetting that he couldn't reply readily.  
Mitch gestured to the water and biscuits on the bedside table and mimed throwing up.  
“No, I haven't been sick, just feel tired and nauseous. They help.”  
He rolled his eyes, twisting so he could lay his hand on her belly, surprising her. Before she could voice a protest he lifted his hand and mimed someone holding a baby and rocking it, then he pointed again to her stomach.  
Jamie stared at him, her eye getting wider by the second. She slowly shook her head. “No. I'm not pregnant, I told you, the gas that was dropped ten years ago rendered everyone sterile.”  
Mitch shook his head and pointed to himself. He mimed himself floating in water, then pulled up his shirt to show one of the substantial scars before once more pointing to himself.  
Jamie frowned, trying to figure out what he was saying. “Are you saying you were floating in the tank because of the hybrid attack so weren't affected by the gas?”  
Mitch nodded.  
“That's all well and good, but even if you managed to escape the gas, I didn't. I still can't get pregnant.”  
He stared at her and she could almost see his brain working to figure out the conundrum. Abruptly he got off the bed and left the room, Jamie staring after him in bafflement. Her hand gravitated to her abdomen, as if wishing that the impossible could be true, but then she stopped the movement and curled her fingers into a fist. She'd forgotten to ask Mitch to get her anti-nausea medication, so she levered herself upright, willing the whirligig to stop moving, then attempted to get upright. It was doomed from the outset, her first step bringing on a rush of sound to her ears even as blackness closed in around her, pitching her to the floor.  
Mitch entered the room again, saw what was happening and lurched forward to catch her, dropping the tablet to do so. With one arm around her back and the other under her knees, he lifted her easily. With her settled in his arms he decided to carry her down to the laboratory to do some tests, just in case his prognosis was wrong and something else was causing her malaise. 

He lay her on the padded gurney and put a belt over her legs and just under her breasts to stop her waking up in a panic and falling off before she realized where she was. The plane interior was already warm, but he lay a sheet over her legs to keep her feet warm anyway, noting absently that she had a missing big toe. For a brief moment he reached out to touch her face, stroking his fingers over the planes of her cheeks, over her lips and the shape of her brows. He pulled his hand back and snapped himself back into doctor mode, dragging over the sonogram after putting on some latex gloves in preparation for taking her blood to test. Jamie remained in her faint while all this was going on, only rousing when a cold cloth was put on her forehead. She opened her eyes but winced, the light shining down on her quickly moved so it no longer blinded her.  
“Thank you,” she said, opening her eyes wider to find Mitch beside her, the bedroom swapped for the laboratory. “Why am I here?” she asked.  
Mitch mimed taking her blood and hovered his hand over her abdomen then pointed to one of the machines.  
“You want to do an ultrasound?” She waited for him to nod, then swallowed hard. That would certainly provide proof of his prognosis or else point towards what was making her sick all the time. “Okay.”  
He met her eyes, his expression asking her permission and she nodded. Mitch reached for the sheet and pulled it back, then lowered the waistband of her harem pants to the top of her thighs, tucking the sheet into the waistband to expose her belly. He gave her an apologetic look before squirting gel onto her skin.  
“That's cold!” Jamie yelped, flinching. He had already removed the belt across her legs, but left the one just under her breast, holding her but not so tight to prevent her breathing. He picked up the wand and switched on the screen. He pressed the wand against her belly, moving the gell around until he could see something herecognized. A large dark patch just above her pubis was mimed by him as her bladder, his exaggerated mime of taking a piss making her give a small giggle at his antics. Then it was back to the serious business of finding her uterus. He moved the head of the ultrasound slowly, a swirl of grainy black and white appearing, this time showing another cavity with clear edges and something, a mass, inside it. He paused the wand, giving a steady picture, then the mass moved by itself and Jamie gasped. He moved the wand again and this time pointed to something on the screen. It was a tiny flutter, Mitch pointing to his own chest and moving his hand as if imitating a heartbeat. Jamie looked back at the image and stared at the life growing inside her. Mitch worked to take a few measurement off the screen, then pulled the wand back, wiped off the gel, before doing the same for Jamie. The screen was paused on the image of her womb and the fetus it contained, her eyes fixed on that, ignoring Mitch who untucked the sheet after wiping off her skin, then pulling up her pants before covering her with the sheet again.  
With Jamie's attention all on the screen, he went over to the workbench and extracted some of her blood, preparing it to test for any deficiencies or warning signs. The ultrasound was confirmation of her pregnancy but he wanted to make sure she wasn't anemic or lacking something in her diet. He also wanted to do a genetic work up on her, to see if any abnormalities popped up in the results. All this sciency stuff was really a way to prevent him thinking too hard about what was actually going on. He told himself all this, but it was really just a way to remove himself from her side, from staring at her face which wore an expression of such wonder and joy, he had to swallow hard to maintain his detachment. 

Jamie Campbell was pregnant with his child. 

Mind completely blown.


	12. Time and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie throws her assets around and Mitch has a revelation

Jamie lay on her bed, back in her bedroom, and stared at the printout from the ultrasound machine. The image was only black and white, small and incredibly grainy, but when you knew what to look for it was easy to see what it depicted.  
She was going to have a baby, Mitch's baby, although possibly conceived with Duncan, nevermind who was in the driving seat at the time, the genes were all Mitch Morgan, whichever way you looked at it. He had written on the back of the printout that she was about eleven to twelve weeks along developmentally speaking. With her erratic periods, it was next to impossible to establish a specific conception date, but she would be expected to deliver some time around mid-to-late September.  
After the ultrasound, Mitch had found her anti-nausea pills and handed them over for her to take. When they kicked in, he helped her down from the gurney, holding on to her until she gently pushed him away at the bottom of the stairs.  
“I've got this, thank you,” she told him softly but firmly. 

He watched her slowly and carefully ascend the stairs, the picture clutched in her hand. His own thoughts were in turmoil, his previous conflicted feelings about her taking a sharp u-turn with the latest development. She was no longer just a lusty slut free with her favors, she was pregnant with his child, the future mother of his child. Fuck. Maybe he should revise his plans for her. 

She got up soon after, feeling suddenly energized. She propped the picture on her bedside table and left the bedroom to find something to eat, ravenously hungry for once. While making herself a cup of tea, Mitch appeared from down below, pausing in the doorway to look at her. She looked up and met his gaze, holding it for longer than she'd done since he first saw her. He broke away first, walking to the chair that he usually sat in and retrieving the tablet Jamie had tossed there after finding it on her bedroom floor. He sat down and typed a few lines, then handed it to her when she carried her tea over to sit beside him.  
She read the lines then handed it back to him. “I'm feeling fine now, and yes, I am fine with this, thank you for asking. I just don't understand how it could have happened...not the biological mechanics, just how someone infertile can suddenly be able to conceive spontaneously like that. They've only just started on the cure for everyone else, so why me?”  
Mitch was already typing his answer, Jamie sipping her tea and watching him. When he was done he handed it to her, a strange expression on his face, almost trepidation.  
Jamie read the answer through, then read it again, her face reflecting confusion and surprise. She looked up at him.  
“You think that hybrid attack on me, not the recent one, but the one months ago changed everything?” She stared back down at his words on the screen. “You think that the hybrid saliva kind of infected me, counteracting the effects of the gas and in essence repairing me?”  
Mitch nodded, holding his hand out for the tablet. Jamie handed it over, her thoughts racing ahead.  
“That would explain why the desert hybrids behaved the way they did. Duncan said they just inspected him and focused on his...er...your scars, even the one on your hand from the hybrid spine. They must have known. When they had me on the ground, they licked my arm where the wolf-hybrid had bitten and torn it, they must have known it was from one of their own.”  
Mitch tapped her arm and handed over the tablet again. Jamie rapidly perused the latest comment.  
“So you think that the hybrid squid that Abe examined had the ability to initiate rapid healing, well that's new. But we weren't attacked by a squid...” Mitch snatched the tablet from her and typed rapidly for a moment, before handing it back.  
“Oh. You think they all have a similar ability, just not so concentrated as the squid thing. Jackson was bitten by a hybrid and he developed that.....” she stopped because Mitch was scowling and shaking his head to refute what she was saying. She handed over the tablet and he started to type, Jamie drinking the rest of her tea before he handed it over for her to read.  
“Jackson wasn't bitten by a hybrid, he was bitten by a mutating dog, so different. Okay, so you're saying that because I was bitten and survived, hybrid saliva in the wounds acted as a sort of universal repair kit for anything that was wrong with me?” She waited for Mitch to nod, his expression clear, satisfied that she understood at last. “So why can't we harvest this hybrid slobber and use it to cure sterility?”  
Mitch typed for a few seconds then handed back the tablet. Jamie read it then looked up at him.  
“You think there is more to it than just being injected with hybrid drool.” She handed him back the tablet and got up to get something to eat, her tea all gone. Mitch watched her walk away, then before she could notice him watching her, he bent to typing an explanation for his theory. When Jamie once more sat beside him, this time with a plate of something to eat, he handed the tablet over and sat back in his chair to await her reaction.  
It wasn't long in coming.  
“Super sperm? Seriously? I know you have an ego the size of Jupiter, but this is taking things a little far, doncha think?”  
Mitch rolled his eyes before covering them with his hand and shaking his head. Jamie watched him and couldn't help the amused smile that lifted her lips. Trust Mitch to expound a theory that included the words, 'super sperm'. When he dropped his hand, he looked annoyed and she handed him back the tablet.  
“I think I know what you mean.” She started, looking to mollify him. “You're suggesting that the effect of the saliva on my system, combined with the effect it had on your system, which wasn't broken, resulted in you having a superior strength set of swimmers that more than made up for any lack in my renewed reproductive system. Am I right?”  
Mitch glared at her, still miffed at her mocking him, but nodded to indicate she had the right idea.  
“So basically the odds were more heavily in our favor because you weren't sterile to start with.”  
Again Mitch nodded and looked relieved that she understood the whole. Jamie suddenly looked worried.  
“This isn't going to cause problems for the baby, is it? I mean, the desert hybrids didn't kill us when they could have, you told me they didn't attack you when you tried to save me at the feeding station. Does that mean we're turning into hybrids? Is my baby going to be growing poisonous spines?” Her voice had taken on a shrill note, her hands gravitating down her body to rest on her belly, covering the growing fetus inside protectively.  
Mitch shook his head vehemently, but Jamie wasn't looking at him, she was staring blankly at the carpet, her hands smoothing over the slight bulge of her stomach. When she looked up, straight into his eyes, her expression was one of panic.  
“Is my baby going to be a monster?” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.  
Unable to resist, Mitch got out of his chair and grabbed her by her arms, pulling her up to stand in front of him, his arms wrapping around her and hugging her tightly. Hesitantly at first, but gaining in confidence, Jamie circled him with her arms and held on, her face buried in his shoulder. She felt one of his hand burrow into her hair and cradle the back of her head, keeping her close. She longed for him to speak and reassure her that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn't, instead simply holding her and rocking them from side to side, the movement incredibly comforting.  
They stayed this way for several minutes, then Jamie pulled away first, to Mitch's consternation. He looked down at her face, noting it was a little pink, whether from the tears or from being so near to him was up for debate. He let his hands rest on her upper arms, not holding but not breaking contact either. Only when she moved back another step did he let his hands drop entirely.  
Jamie cleared her throat. “I'm...um...going to get dressed. I have stuff I have to do...” she made to go but his hand reached out and circled her wrist, halting her progress. She looked up into his face. “What is it, Mitch?”  
He held up one finger, asking her to wait a minute, then found the tablet and tapped on the screen. She waited, then read his question moments later. She looked up, surprised.  
“Of course you can come with me, I'd appreciate the company, let alone the help.” She gave him one of her rare brilliant smiles, her eyes alight with pleasure.  
He was blinded by it, feeling his heart stop, then restart again, his own lips lifting in response. But instead of being able to tell her it would be his pleasure as well, he couldn't and his smile faded. Jamie had already turned away from him so didn't see his face or the frustration painted on it. 

She decided to be very brave and let Mitch drive the truck and trailer. After a hesitant start that she stoutly ignored, he accomplished the drive to Blythe without any problem, taking her directions to find the feeding station without rancor. Once there, he insisted she not do any lifting and simply instruct him what to do and where to put it. This she did, the animals crowding around them to partake of the food and clean water. After that was accomplished, it was back in the truck and a quick trip to the chook house. The chickens set up a loud ruckus on seeing them, both Mitch and Jamie parceling out the food, filling the water troughs and going into the house to collect eggs. Those that had been left from previous collections to hatch normally, were marked with a blue cross from the pens left strategically around the house, making it easy to find the newer laid eggs and collect only those. A quick visit to Duncan's house, then a tour of the various gardens and glass houses to check on the plants and produce, and they were back in the center of town at one of the garages to top up on petrol, oil, and other fluids. Mitch, despite his great intellect, had never really bothered with vehicle maintenance, leaving such mundane tasks to the mechanic who serviced his car. Now he allowed Jamie to show him the basics of checking the oil and levels of transmission, brake, and power steering fluids, as well as checking the tire pressures on both truck and trailer. While he worked his way around the car, she washed the windows to improve visibility and allow her to keep an eye on him. With that task accomplished, they headed back to the airport, both feeling a degree of harmony for the first time since Duncan's seizure.  
Back at the hanger, Mitch insisted on carrying their supplies, letting Jamie close the loading ramp, but nothing else. After ditching their boots and coats, they entered the plane, Fucktard complaining loudly that they hadn't filled his food bowl before leaving. Mitch finally surrendered one of the lighter baskets to her at the stairs. He was going to start on his computer build while she took care of the cat.

With the tension between them softened, they carried on amicably for the next few weeks, Jamie submitting herself for Mitch to take various readings like blood pressure, urine tests and measurements to keep track of the babies growth and any weight gain. If anything, Jamie was retaining a stable weight, their diet not high in saturated fats or sugars, their animal protein primarily from eggs, the occasional chicken when the craving for meat became intolerable, and cheese. If Jamie had cravings for something they simply didn't have access to, like ice cream, she kept them to herself. She developed a taste for different nut spreads, from peanut to cashew and several other varieties. One time she had an unbearable craving for a punnet of hot, salty potato wedges, but nothing was available except ready-salted potato crisps, so she settled for those instead. Their supply of non-perishable foodstuffs was dwindling, with some, like pasta, taking the place of bread as their main carbohydrate intake. Most of the food items in glass or plastic jars and cans were good, but dry goods like flour and rice were quickly ruined by weevils and other insects. Same with any other grain-based foods, although if they were in air sealed storage containers and avoided predation, they were still good. They tried to use up the perishables first, like muesli bars, soft cheeses, fruit sticks, dried fruit, loose nuts, anything with a definite use by date. These, supplemented by the different small fresh fruit and veggies they harvested made for an interesting and varied dietary menu. Mitch made sure she had whatever supplements she needed, especially vitamin C, iron and calcium, and they started to store items that would be needed after the baby was born – formula and diapers sneaking their way into one of the unused bedrooms along from their own. 

Their relationship remained at a level of cautiously optimistic friendship. Mitch still lusted after her, but he tempered that and limited himself to wanking off at night into a tissue, his former resentment at her fucking his predecessors ameliorated by knowing that he would be the child's father, while the other two no longer existed. Without Jamie knowing, he had taken a scan of his own skull and the information gleaned proved that the bio-drive was now entirely inert. There was no hint of energy either coming from or going to the device. It would seem that the last short circuit had truly killed it. That meant that neither the original Mitch or subsequent personality of Duncan could ever make an appearance again. The Mitch he was now was for the rest of his life. For reasons he couldn't even explain to himself, he hadn't divulged this news to Jamie. She should have been the first to know, so she could deal with it and move on. Instead, he hugged the information to himself for some bizarre reason, as if not speaking about his other selves would mean they never existed, which for Jamie they still did, something he failed to take into consideration. 

The difficulties of communication between them were solved temporarily by them both learning sign language, something Jamie suggested as an adjunct to using the tablet. She had found a book in the Blythe library and they sat down for an hour every day, usually on the floor of the lounge, and went through the illustrations, learning the alphabet, the numbers, then simple expressions and words, then actual sentences and conversations. It took a month of constant practicing and use to reach a level of fluency, but it made talking so much easier. By also getting better at reading body language and judging facial expressions, they both succeeded in creating a way of communicating that incorporated every aspect of their life, except for one. Intimacy. 

Jamie was now getting on for close to five months, her bump now becoming more pronounced at this close to the end of her second trimester. Her nausea was ever present, but much milder than a few months past. She had taken up yoga to keep herself supple, over her previous, more strenuous exercise routine. Her breasts were huge, compared to their usual handful, and she stared down at them in amazement, the nipples pushed out so they appeared permanently erect. They were also tender, so she preferred to go braless, not considering or noticing the effect this was having on Mitch, living in such close quarters as they did.

He felt, some days as if he walked around with a permanent erection. Those delightfully perky breasts that he'd lusted after were now perfectly luscious globes designed to torment him with their stiff nipples and mesmerizing sway. Sometimes, when they were in the same room he found himself fixated on them, watching Jamie breath just to see her breasts rise and fall, the soft fabric of her t-shirt sliding back and forth over those nipples until he felt he would explode. He would then excuse himself and leave the room, quickly finding somewhere he could jerk off, his pocket always full of tissues for this purpose. What Jamie made of his frequent exits was up for debate, he only knew that he was fast running out of what sanity he had left, desperation and thwarted lust gripping him like a vice. 

Jamie had noticed his ever-increasing fascination with her changing body and smiled to herself. She had long ago come to terms with never seeing Duncan or her original Mitch again. She had worked out for herself that if the bio drive had finally failed, there was never going to be another reset, hence no return of the other personalities. She had grieved, but then consoled herself that in truth she had Mitch back, minus a few memories, but that meant they could make new ones – together. Once the period of her severe nausea and tiredness passed, she started to notice his sideways glances when he thought she wouldn't notice, his stares when she leaned forward or bent over to pick something up. It amused her that he seemed to think she was oblivious to it all, that she wore the thin tees accidentally, not just to see how far she could push him before he acted. Mitch had always been a slave to his libido where she was concerned, whichever personality was to the fore. This latest was just as transparent as either of the others but without all their attendant baggage.  
It was now a matter of how much longer he intended to hold out against her. She was betting on not very long at all. 

A few morning later she appeared in the lounge wearing the negligee he recognized as the one she wore that first morning he woke up. It floated around her, her prominent breasts clearly visible under the sheer fabric, nipples tenting the surface, his mouth watering at the thought of having them in his mouth. Jamie sent him a casual smile and wave, acknowledging his presence but nothing more. When she reached up to one of the upper shelves to retrieve a glass, he watched in nearly slavering fascination as the sheer silk moved across the firm globes, flesh flattening and then filling her breasts as she lowered her arm again, glass in hand. He rose to his feet. Jamie continued to potter around the kitchen, never once looking his way. He took a step towards her. She bent over to reach into a lower cupboard and the silky fabric stretched across her rounded bottom lovingly, the flesh just begging for his hands to fill with them. It also lifted the hem to skim the top of her thighs, the hint of shadow, the gap between her legs, just above where the fabric rested. He took another step forward, his hands flexing. Jamie turned to face him, a glass in one hand, the bowl in the other. She smiled at him, but his gaze was on the faint swell of her belly, the indent of her belly button and the dark vee visible at the apex of her thighs. She pretended not to notice his heated stare or the impressive wood tenting his boxers.  
“Can I get you something, Mitch?” When he didn't respond she turned around to put her food and drink down. That was when he moved.  
Large hands came around her body and cradled her breasts through the thin fabric, long fingers bracketing her nipples and applying pressure. His body flattened itself against her back, his erection now snuggly pressed against her bottom, between her cheeks. He exuded heat everywhere they touched, Jamie not moving as his head rested against hers, pushing it to the side so he could latch on to her exposed neck and suckle the silky flesh. She braced herself against the kitchen bench, pushing her bottom back into his cock, his hands still busy about her breasts, kneading and squeezing, plucking at their tips. He groaned against her neck and she rubbed her body against him, the silk providing further friction as they moved together.  
He suddenly pulled back and she opened her mouth to protest only for him to grab her upper arm in his hand and drag her out of the room. She didn't argue his heavy-handedness but tripped along behind him until he wrenched back the sliding door to his room and dragged her inside. His mouth was suddenly on hers, all soft lips and hot tongue, his throat producing animalistic grunts and groans that sent tingles all over her body as he lifted the slip over her head and tossed it aside. He paused for a second to just admire her body, then his mouth was back on hers and he was forcing her to walk backward to the bed. She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers combing through his hair as she fell onto the mattress, dragging him down with her. He stopped kissing her mouth to turn his attention to her breasts, his mouth making sweet love to them, his hand stroking over her skin even as he kicked his boxers off. She was still at the edge of the bed, but he didn't gesture for her to move, simply lifting her legs with one hand on each ankle, his cock unerringly finding the entrance to her body and plunging in. He had gone too long for this to last, his hips working to stroke in deep before pulling out nearly completely, then plunging in again, his body falling forward so his mouth could once more worship her breasts, now flattened by gravity. He used his hands to push them up again, the nipples like ripe berries that he drew between his lips and suckled enthusiastically. Jamie wrapped her legs around his back and moved with him, rolling her pelvis to increase friction, her head digging into the covers behind her when she arched her back, his pubis hitting just the right spot with each slamming thrust into her.  
It didn't take him many more strokes to reach his climax, his body shuddering against her as his cock pumped hot fluid into her depths. It felt so wonderful to have his weight on her and his flesh inside her that she didn't worry that her own needs hadn't been met. All through the encounter, Mitch had been making little noise, grunts and growls, each one making her melt with desire. He kept himself seated inside her and simply lifted her up to move her further onto the bed. With them both stretched out, him on top of her, he shifted them sideways, his hips making small movements to revive his cock back to hardness, his face buried between her breasts, mouthing them lovingly. He soon wanted to change position again, this time with her back to his front, entering her from behind, his hands spread over her torso, one coming to rest splayed over her rounded belly, the other happy to play among her breasts, tweaking the nipples with each thrust as she pushed back to take him deeper. Jamie chose the last position, up on all fours, Mitch seated as deep as he could go, leaning over her back to use his hands, one breast in each while he pounded against the soft cushion of her backside, both of them giving voice to their pleasure with moans and grunts, wet slaps and breathy sighs. Jamie cried out his name when she finally came, her whole body shaking with the force of her climax, Mitch taking only a couple of strokes to join her, jerking against her bottom, his hands still holding her breasts like precious glass vessels. This time he allowed his softened cock to slip out of her body when they slumped to the side, once more her back to his front, both breathing hard and well pleasured. A little while later they moved their way to the head of the bed, pushing the covers down to lay on the cool sheet, Mitch finally taking his glasses off while Jamie snuggled her head onto his shoulder, his arm around her holding her close. They lay there, enjoying the closeness, hearts slowing down to a normal tempo while sweat dried on their skin. The sliding door had been left open so Fucktard took that as an open invitation, jumping on the bed to take a nap after giving the humans already there a long look.

Jamie couldn't stop smiling. Here she was, back in the arms of the man she loved, even this complicated and confusing version of him, his lovemaking no less wonderful than it had ever been, and his child growing inside her. Was ever a woman blessed. 

Mitch lay with his eyes closed in a pleasant state of bliss, his arms full of warm, unbelievably sexy woman and his libido happy at last, along with his well-satisfied cock. Now he understood why the bed had been so well used, why Duncan, his alter-ego hadn't been able to keep his hands and cock away from her. She was pure catnip to his rampant tomcat. Now he'd had a taste, he was not looking back. She was the purest drug buzzing in his veins, the smell, and taste of her a banquet. God, he was waxing poetic like the greatest fool alive, but he didn't care. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her crown, smelling the scent of her hair and smiling. 

At some point, Mitch pulled the covers over them both and they slept, not for long, just enough to recharge them both. Jamie stretched on waking, the mouth lavishing attention to her breasts lifting off them with a slight pop, that same mouth finding hers and kissing her deeply, his tongue exploring everywhere before entangling with hers in a familiar, but still exciting dance. Only when he pulled back to kiss her jaw, did she open her eyes, positively purring under his eager attention. He found that spot on her neck that sent her wild, her body writhing against his as he licked and nibbled the skin there. It was starting to heat up between them, Mitch throwing back the covers to let cooler air wash over them, her skin raising goosebumps which just as quickly subsided as she felt her core start to melt in readiness to receive him. Mitch was taking his time to map all the freckles on her shoulders and chest, kissing each one before moving on to the next. She stretched and writhed, his hands stroking and fondling her all over, his lips traveling down her body as he relearned her contours, discovering new and tantalizing territory as he went. Fucktard gave up trying to sleep on the ever-moving mattress and jumped down, stalking off out of the room to find some peace and quiet elsewhere. Mitch was making those noises again that just made her gasp and squirm against him, her need rising the closer he came to her liquid center. She keened at him, wanting to feel his hardness spearing her, filling her up. He wanted to taste all of her, spreading her thighs to give him access to her deepest secrets, her flesh warm and moist, her smell intoxicating. He dipped his head and licked her with the flat of his tongue, Jamie giving a little scream and spreading her legs even wider to welcome him home. With his hands on her thighs to keep them spread, he dived in and ate his fill, lapping at her like a man starved, sucking and nibbling at the tender folds while Jamie squealed and sighed above him. God, she tasted good.  
When he could hold off no longer he made to enter her, but Jamie pushed him off, telling him to lay down and let her do all the heavy lifting. He did so, soaking in the view of her fecund body sitting on his erection and taking her pleasure of him, his hands held to her beautiful breasts by hers as she lifted and lowered herself repeatedly, tossing her head when their joined bodies hit just the right angle, providing just the right pressure to her pleasure center. When she arched and shimmied around him, he took over, lowering her relaxed body to the covers to plow into her, raising the level of force and speed to bring on his own climax, his mouth busy about her breasts even as he shuddered and spilled himself inside her.  
They both sprawled, panting hard, side by side on the bed, his hand laced with hers where it rested just over her heart. Her face was turned away from him and he felt a need to see her expression, to drown in her eyes, as sappy as that sounded. He rose up on his elbow and she turned towards him, her lips pulled into a dazzling smile that he returned with a pale, but sincere imitation. Not since he'd woken up that first time had he wished he had a voice to tell her what he was feeling. He tried to convey the concept with his hands using sign language, but he halted after a few seconds, unable to find the right gestures, he frowned in frustration and flung himself onto his back again.

Jamie had watched his hands, trying to interpret what he wanted to say, but it was his face that told the truth. The suspicion and cynicism that had always been there, lurking behind his eyes, was gone. Since his last 'reset', as she called it, she had felt he didn't have a very high opinion of her, or of women in general, but of her in particular. She knew perfectly well that whatever he felt emotionally for her, it was currently buried under a supercilious, misogynist veneer that screamed of attitudes even twenty years ago. She could pinpoint the moment that attitude changed when it was confirmed that she was pregnant with his child. Never mind that it was from having sex with one of his previous alter-ego's, it was still biologically his even if he wasn't present for the conception. Since then she'd sensed he was rethinking some of his assumptions, modifying his attitude towards her, throwing out the antagonism and embracing the concept of being a father again, which in turn meant accepting her role as the soon-to-be mother to his child. It had certainly made living with him the last month or so a far more enjoyable experience for her, leading to her intense teasing to break the impasse they'd reached. Now that barrier was broken in spectacular fashion, they could finally start to work together as a couple, a team, lovers.  
Raising herself up on her elbow, she leaned over him, pushing the arm back that covered his eyes and smiling down at him. 

She simply said. “I know.”

Jamie stared at the screen and frowned. She had left messaged for Abe via Skype, but he hadn't left any for her for months now. She hadn't been able to tell him about her pregnancy or Mitch's theory about the hybrids, which was frustrating certainly, but she was more worried that something awful had happened to them. She felt a warm hand land on her shoulder and she reached up to cover it, looking up into Mitch's face. He signed, asking what was wrong.  
“Still no message from Abe. I don't know if it's because everything has broken down where they are, or if they simply can't access a computer there, but I'm worried.”  
Mitch bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She watched as he signed, asking if she wanted something to eat or drink. She nodded and smiled. Together they made their way up to the lounge, Jamie taking her time, her balance a little skewed with the extra weight out front. At seven months she felt as big as a house but knew she would get bigger again before the end of her pregnancy. All Mitch's monitoring showed that their child was progressing entirely normally with no signs of any physical abnormalities. Spring in Blythe was long passed and they were experiencing their first summer in the desert. With access to unlimited power via the solar panels, they were able to keep the plane at a comfortable temperature, but if they had to step outside the heat hit them like a hammer. They still did their every-second-day runs into Blythe to stock up the feeding station for the former pets, feed the ever-increasing flock of chickens and tend to the various gardens and greenhouses producing fresh greens and other delicacies like tomatoes and lettuce. In the past, these would have been commercially produced, but here every successfully raised plant brought to fruition was celebrated as a triumph. Neither Jamie nor Mitch had any previous knowledge of gardening or farming so everything was a little trial and error, helped by the books gleaned from the library. Meat was no longer an issue, with a ready supply of chicken to supplement their dry goods. Fish had also been added to the menu with a couple of fish-trap baskets set up in a nearby canal still fed from the Colorado River further upstream. With the addition of fresh food, there was less predation on longer-term food stocks, their supplies now sufficient to keep the pair of them for years to come. The feed for the pets was dwindling slowly, but so was the population, which had been in steady decline since they arrived. Age, illness, and predation had taken its toll, but the animals had also adapted, becoming less tame and more self-sufficient. Those that Mitch could treat were seen to, while those that had reached the end of their life were euthanized to prevent further suffering when an illness was compromising their quality of life. The next generation was also making an appearance, young dogs accompanying their parents, usually only small litters, the same with the cats, only producing one or two kittens, so that the population, once it dropped to under a hundred, remained relatively stable. 

The desert hybrids were a constant presence in and around Blythe, but they rarely bothered the humans going about their business. Most of the time the animals were invisible, though sometimes appearing like spirits out of the desert, padding across the highway in front of the truck before vanishing among the dunes and scrub on the other side. It was like they were telling the human occupants of Blythe that even if they couldn't see the pack, it could see them and knew where they were at any time.

The summer dragged on with temperatures that soared into the forties during July, Jamie and Mitch sometimes just staying in bed and soaking in the air conditioning while outside the hanger the airport sizzled and tarmac melted like butter, the end of the runway invisible due to heat-shimmer. 

It was during one of their regular forays into town that they discovered they weren't alone anymore. Despite her advanced pregnancy, Jamie never went into Blythe alone, and Mitch never went without giving her the option to go with him, so basically they were together every time they went out. Mitch had made little progress in getting his voice back beyond the most basic of sounds, which were given voice usually in the bedroom, between the sheets. Otherwise, he communicated with sign language or used the tablet when he had a more complicated idea to convey, or his hands simply weren't fast enough to get out what he was expounding upon. In the truck they usually simply listened to music, Mitch driving while Jamie was the lookout. It would be fair to say they had become complacent with their solitary life, taking chances that they never would when they first arrived. They rarely covered their tracks anymore, the wind and sand often doing the job for them, but it was easy for anyone with a modicum of tracking ability to see the route they traveled regularly. It made it easy for the newcomers to ambush them. 

They had just finished up at the feeding station, Mitch filling the bowls while Jamie hooked up the hose to the water tank, ready for him to wash out and refill the troughs. Jamie was covered up from the sun, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, commodious long sleeve shirt that hung to her thighs, over jeans and boots. Mitch also wore jeans and boots, but wore a sleeveless plaid shirt, his arms very brown and now more heavily muscled than he'd been at any other time in his life. He also wore a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, Jamie teasing him about being an urban cowboy, or farmer brown, all of which he took with good humor. Where she had gained weight, he had lost it, his tall frame leaner, the love handles long gone with all the hard work and yoga he was doing with Jamie. He was also a far better shot with a gun than he'd been before, both of them spending time at the local gun range to keep their hand in, just in case.  
Unfortunately, none of that was going to help them that day.  
Jamie was just winding up the hose, ready for Mitch to throw it into the back of the truck when she paused, listening.  
“Do you hear that?” she asked, twisting her head to try and pinpoint the direction the sound was coming from. Mitch continued on his trek back to the truck with the empty feed bag, his head up as he listened. Dumping the bags on the floor of the trailer, he hefted up the coiled hose.  
“It's getting louder,” Jamie added. Mitch indicating for her to get into the truck. When she turned to go, he looked in the direction she'd been staring, his brows drawing together. Something was coming their way.  
The feeding station was suspiciously light on animals as if they sensed a change in the wind, and Mitch took that as further incentive to flee. Jamie had wound the window down while he turned the truck and trailer to leave, listening for the noise they'd heard. All the time he was thinking, it could be fatal to make a run for the airplane, giving away their biggest secret to whatever was coming. Instead, he decided to head for Duncan's house, as they called it, to hide out in the back streets until whatever it was passed, or they had a better idea of what they were dealing with. Unfortunately, the newcomers had anticipated that and Mitch hadn't driven more than a couple of streets, when vehicles came at them from all directions, cutting them off and hemming them in. A man got out of the vehicle directly in front of them and indicated, with his rifle, that they get out of the truck.  
Mitch turned to Jamie and shook his head, signing for her to stay put. She didn't argue, her hands covering her distended belly protectively. Mitch leaned over and kiss her cheek, both of them sharing a look before Mitch made to climb out of the cab, his hands raised to indicate surrender. 

The man was older than Mitch, but looked like ex-military, dressed in faded fatigues and a baseball cap, hair cropped short beneath it.  
“Are you armed?” the man asked, pointing the barrel of his rifle at him. Mitch shook his head.  
“You the only ones here?” was the next question. Again, Mitch shook his head.  
“Apart from the missus, I mean.” The man pointed his gun at Jamie in the truck and Mitch moved to put himself in between them, again shaking his head.  
“Who are you?” the man stepped forward, gun butt resting on his hip, finger on the trigger. Mitch wet his lip and lowered his hand to sign his name. The ex-soldier raised his eyebrows.  
“Can't you talk, are you deaf?” Mitch indicated with a simple gesture that his hearing was fine, but that his voice was not.  
“Fuck.” the man turned to one of the cars. “Get on the radio, we need someone who knows sign language. Tell 'em we'll bring them to the convoy.” He turned back to address Mitch.  
“Get back in your truck and don't try anything stupid. Follow my car, we're taking you in for questioning.”  
Mitch gave the man a hard stare then nodded, walking backward to the truck, never letting the man out of his sight. When everyone was back inside their vehicles, the ex-soldier signaled for Mitch to follow and started to drive off, Mitch pulling in behind him, the other cars falling in behind the truck and trailer. They were taken on a roundabout loop that brought everyone back into the center of town. There was the source of the sound they'd heard.  
A huge convoy made up of trucks of every conceivable description, large and small, as well as campervans, caravans and even a bus or two was parked all along the main strip, on both sides of the highway, all pointing west. People were milling around, some coming out of shops with armfuls of goods or clothing, others acting as security and standing around with guns at the ready. The team that had captured Mitch and Jamie wove a path through the throng to the lead vehicles, a smart selection of very new looking luxury four-by-four, a cluster of people, men and woman standing under a hastily erected tarpaulin, around a table. All turned to look up as the ambush party arrived, the strangers in their midst. As the newcomers watched, a man and woman descended from their truck, not from either side, but only from one side, the man helping the woman down, the reason for his solicitude becoming obvious when they walked to the front of the truck. A collective intake of breath and a murmur of comment swept around the gathering on seeing the heavily pregnant woman walk towards them.  
Mitch kept his arm about Jamie, feeling the tremors of fear that she couldn't suppress. They were vastly outnumbered and at the mercy of the leaders of this rag-tag convoy.  
When they reached the shade someone unfolded a chair and presented it for Jamie to sit on, all of them watching her with unfeigned awe as she lowered herself, one hand supporting her belly, the other clutching at Mitch's hand. He didn't let go.  
One of the women stepped forward. “How far along are you?” Her voice wasn't accusatory, more surprised.  
Jamie looked up at her, then around at the other faces.  
“Um...We think seven months, give or take,” she told them. Mitch had removed his hat and stood at her side, still holding her hand. Jamie let go briefly to take her own floppy hat off, the better for the people to see her face.  
“How long have you folks been out here?” another asked, the group unnaturally quiet, silenced by the unexpected scene before them.  
“A little under a year, I think,” Jamie answered again, looking up at Mitch who nodded slightly.  
“Why are you out here, and how did this happen?” another asked, the voice deep and harsh.  
Jamie's fingers clenched convulsively around Mitch's.  
“Um...we...er..liked the look of the place, and there weren't any dangers, to speak of, and we were tired of traveling, so picked a house and stayed,” she explained, then added. “Are you going to hurt us?” She brought her other hand up to clutch at Mitch's arm. He crouched down beside her and put his arm around her, glaring at the group around them. Someone suddenly pushed through the assembled crowd.  
“You asked for someone who knew sign language?” the young man said. “I do.”  
Mitch stood up again and started to sign, the young man watching, then signing back.  
“What did he say?” one of the women asked.  
“He wants to know how long we're going to hold them out in this heat? His wife needs to be in the cool not baking on the street,” the young man interpreted.  
“He has a point,” someone muttered. The group looked around at each other, then back at the captives. One man stepped forward.  
“Take us to where you live. We can talk there.” He waited for Mitch and Jamie to exchange a look, then Mitch nodded, helping Jamie back to her feet. He held her steady while she wrangled her hat again, then put his on and turned to go back to the truck. The leader spoke again.  
“One of my men will go in your truck, with you. Just in case you get the urge to do something stupid.”  
Mitch paused and turned his head to give the leader a long look, before helping Jamie into the passenger side of the truck, another man, armed, got into the back seat. The leaders all scattered to their respective vehicles then peeled out to follow the dust-covered truck and trailer.

They all arrived at Duncan's house, from the exterior looking no different than any of the others on the derelict suburban street. The cleanliness and number of solar panels were a giveaway, but only if you bothered to look closely. Mitch and Jamie once more exited the truck, Jamie keeping very close to Mitch. Together they led the group of men and a few women, into the house, glad now that they kept the place stocked – just in case. The man who had ridden in the truck indicated for them to take a seat in the living room, Mitch glad to get Jamie off her feet and out of the heat. Jamie undid her hat with shaking fingers and took it off, her hair sweat soaked, as was his when he discarded his own hat. He stood by her chair, a hand linked with hers, while the men searched through the house, others inspecting the outside. Eventually, the apparent leader entered the house and walked into the lounge, flopping down on one of the comfortable chairs with a gusty sigh.  
“Sweet deal you have here. Well stocked, plenty of water, comfortable, I can see why you stayed.”  
Jamie spoke up. “What do you want with us?”  
The leader threw up his hands and made a face. “Nothing. Really, we weren't expecting to find anyone hiding out here. It's just another stop on our way to the west coast. In fact, why aren't you both on the coast, surely there are betting picking there?”  
“We've been told there was more likely to be hybrid activity there. More 'pickings' for them in a densely populated area.”  
The leader nodded. “Similar to the intel we got. But we're a larger force and any hybrid stupid enough to come near will be blown to kingdom come.”  
Jamie looked at the others standing around the room. Several looked uneasy at the leader's words.  
“Yeah. How is that working out for you?” Jamie asked. Mitch squeezed her fingers, trying to caution her against antagonizing the man. Jamie squeezed back.  
The leader's face lost some of its jovial expression.  
“I'll admit the few we've encountered have been lucky to get away, but they've also left us alone. What's your secret?”  
Jamie shrugged. “We don't try and shoot them everytime we see them. We leave them alone, they leave us alone. Has worked well so far.”  
The leader nodded. “And what's with the trailer? The feed and water. You have livestock here?”  
Mitch shook his head and signed.  
“He says – no livestock, just abandoned pets, cats, and dogs.” The young man brought with them to interpret. Mitch signed again and the young man grinned. “He says he's a vet. Couldn't leave them to just die.”  
The leader smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “A vet. And your wife? Although I notice neither of you wear rings?”  
Jamie spoke up. “I can't anymore, my fingers are too swollen, and my husband leaves his off to avoid it getting all scratch up when he works. Any more idiotic questions?”  
The leader scowled at her. “Yeah. How the holy fuck are you pregnant when the rest of the world is sterile, Miss Sassy? Answer me that!”  
Mitch started to sign, the young man interpreting as he went.  
“He says his wife was in an isolation ward when the gas was dropped, as was he, keeping her company. She was recovering from an operation and was on a separate ventilation system from the rest of the hospital, an oxygen tent. She had skin grafts which was why she was in an oxygen tent to aid healing.”  
Jamie realised her cue and pulled up the sleeve of her shirt to show the scarring from the hybrid attack. To a layman, without close inspection or medical knowledge, they looked impressive. Some of the people around the room winced in sympathy. Mitch continued his explanation.  
“He goes on to say that it was only after the gas was dropped that it was realized that the effect on anyone exposed to it was to become sterile. He and his wife somehow avoided the same fate.”  
The leader was watching Jamie's face for any hint that the narrative was a fiction. From long practice during the years she'd had to work alone, Jamie was able to keep her countenance.  
“He says that this is their third pregnancy in the last decade, the others didn't get past the first trimester.” Hearing this, Jamie managed to look suitably sorrowful, her hands rubbing over her distended belly, her head down.  
The leader, as Mitch hoped, looked suitably chastened, but also not entirely convinced of their apparent innocence.  
“Why did you leave the relative safety of the east, behind the barrier? Surely you'd want to stay close to medical help?” he asked.  
Mitch signed and the young man interpreted.  
“Says they were sick of being guinea pigs for the medical profession. They were used as test subjects because of their ability to even conceive, let alone carry to term, so they fled beyond the barrier looking for somewhere to live, ended up in Blythe.”  
The leader stared at them both, his mind obviously looking for flaws in their story, chewing over the facts. Jamie looked up at Mitch, her expression pleading. Mitch signed to the interpreter.  
“Says his wife needs to use the bathroom.”  
“She can go, but Sarah will take her, in case she needs help,” the man announced. Jamie looked alarmed and clutched at Mitch's hand. Mitch smiled reassuringly and nodded for her to go, kissing her before helping her to her feet and handing her over to the woman, Sarah.  
Mitch sat in the vacated armchair and stared across at the leader, then he moved his hands, signing.  
“He says what do you really want?”  
The leader chuckled. “What do I want? I would like the truth, but I have a feeling that I'm not going to get that out of you or your wife. It takes a special breed of person to make the decisions you and her have made, and I admire that. I think that pregnancy aside, you are hiding out here for reasons I've yet to discover, with access to resources we can't even imagine, for you and she to be able to survive as long as you have, alone, out here. So, what do I want? I want to know how you can be alive and untouched by the hybrids and how it happened, that you and the little lady are about to have a baby? Especially as, by all report and information, you and she are supposed to be dead. Does that seem reasonable, Doctor Morgan?”

Jamie really did need to use the bathroom, the baby pressing on her bladder continuously. Her needs taken care of, she spent a moment washing her hands and drinking some of the cold tap water before drying her face and hands and opening the bathroom door. The woman waited for her in the hallway, having already ascertained that there was no escape from the bathroom, the window too small. When they returned to the lounge, Jamie gasped and stopped, the leader holding a gun on Mitch in the chair opposite.  
“What are you doing? Why are you pointing a gun at my husband?” she moved forward, but a hand on her arm held her back.  
The leader looked up from his staring contest with Mitch. “Feeling better I hope? I was just discussing with your husband what I really want from you both. The truth is always an option, but you're a former journalist, Miss Campbell, or should that be Mrs. Morgan now. You know all about the truth, don't you?”  
Jamie felt her legs give out, Mitch there to catch her before she could hit the floor. He eased her over to the chair to sit down, meeting her worried eyes with his steady gaze. She took strength from his calm demeanor and swallowed hard.  
“So you know who we are and think you know why we're here. How is that of any benefit to you? Just carry on going wherever you're going and leave us alone.”  
The leader waved the gun loosely. “I was going to offer you a place in our convoy, but I have a feeling you would be reluctant to join us, would I be right?”  
“We have everything we need here, or we did. I imagine you move from town to town, strip them and move on,” she stated. “There's precious little here to start with, so why bother with us?”  
The man laughed softly. “Well for one, he's the great and powerful Mitch Morgan, savior of the planet eleven years ago, protector of the animals. Shame he didn't protect the rest of us at the same time. Now he's resurfaced, no one knows where he was for a decade, and the hybrids are back, worse than ever and multiplying. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. Soon there will be more of them than us.” He swept his arm in an arc to encompass the people in the room. “All of us are committed to founding a new colony that will be safe from the hybrids. Now with you along with us, we have a real chance of starting a new generation. Your child, your children will be the foundation of a new people.” He leaned forward in the chair, the gun still waving around. “Los Angeles will have everything we could possibly want to restart, and with the addition of hope and children to start a new breeding stock we will have the chance to build again.”  
Jamie shrank back into the armchair. “There is no way on this Earth that I will allow you to use my child as..as..breeding stock!” She spat. “Our former team is already working on a cure for sterility and soon anyone will be able to have children, which means so will you. And another thing, Mitch had nothing to do with what's happening with the hybrids! It was the Shepherds that created them, not us or our team.”  
“That's not what the authorities are saying. If you and he are so innocent, why did you run away? Play dead? No, I think you all had a great deal to do with what is happening in the world right now, and I think we'll just take you along with us when we leave.” He addressed the other people in the room. “Just think, folks, a baby among us again, won't that be a miracle?”  
Under the cover of the people talking around them, Mitch crouched down beside the chair, gathering Jamie into his arms and holding her while she sobbed her fear and worry into his shoulder. 

The leader left them and the house shortly after, leaving behind guards to prevent Jamie and Mitch stepping a foot outside. When the guards were changed a few hours later they learned that the chook house had been found, along with some of the greenhouses, all of them plundered, all their hard work for nothing. Their only hope lay in the plane remaining a secret for the time being. If they had a chance to escape before the convoy moved on, they could get to the airport and simply fly out of Blythe. Admittedly, although the plane was ready to fly it would take time to get it out of the hanger and get through the initial prep and tests before leaving the ground, a time frame they were unlikely to have if pursued too closely. Plus they hadn't got around to moving the Sullivan's plane out of the way yet, something Jamie regretted not doing.  
“Oh, poor Fucktard!” she whispered, burying her face against Mitch. “He's going to starve to death.”  
They were sitting on the sofa together, guarded by one man with a gun, while two others guarded the front and back door, and there were more outside, patrolling the grounds.  
Time dragged while they waited for the leadership of the newcomers to decide what to do with them.  
Mitch stroked her hair in sympathy, wishing for the millionth time that he could vocalize his feeling for her, tell her of his admiration for her courage and that they would get out of this. Neither of them were sleeping well, the first night under guard had seemed the longest ever, Mitch on watch in case any of the strangers tried anything, Jamie too uncomfortable in the heat to sleep. Now it was their second day under house arrest and they were no closer to coming up with a plan to rescue themselves. Mitch was seriously concerned that the heat and stress might bring on an early labor, and did his best to use what resources they had to keep Jamie cool and as calm as circumstances would allow. Neither of them were very interested in food, but that didn't stop the guards from making free with the food stocking the cupboards and fridge. This inevitably resulted in dirty dishes filling up the sink and opened tins left to attract flies making their incarceration more miserable until Mitch suggested they retire to the bedroom to shut the flies out. Now he stood at the window staring out at the road running past the house, his brain still suggesting and discarding a number of possible ways to escape. Of course, having Jamie so far along in her pregnancy raised a whole slew of problems with most of his plans, his last yardstick for any escape attempt being how it might affect the baby. So far, getting into their truck and driving to the airport was the only feasible, workable option, but also the least likely as he had no weapons and Jamie was out of action in regards fighting her way out. Plus they were outnumbered.  
“Mitch?” Jamie's quiet voice called him back to the bed. “I can hear your mind working from here.”  
He grimaced and signed an apology. She laughed and patted the bed beside her. He let out a gusty sigh but tempered it with a small smile, crawling onto the rumpled mattress to lay beside her, his head propped up on his hand so he could look at her. A shadow passed behind the blinds as one of the guards walked past their window, reminding them of the futility of most of their plans to date. Mitch could possibly take out one of the guards and grab his weapon, but there was no way he was going to initiate a firefight in the house and risk Jamie or the baby. Jamie was adamant she didn't want him to get himself shot and leave her alone to rear their child, so they were at an impasse. 

The day drew to a close and still, no word had come from the leaders of the convoy, so they settled down to wait out another long night. The bedroom door was shut, but they could hear the guards taking part in a raucous game of cards, their replacements having arrived that afternoon to take over for the night. Neither Jamie or Mitch changed out of their day clothes, not wanting to be caught literally with their pants down, or give the guards anything to ogle when Jamie inevitably had to visit the loo for the hundredth time. This night saw the rise of a full moon, sending stripes of silver light through the blinds, creating a black and white world. A noise outside heard above the men's voices made Mitch sit up and stare at the window. The sound didn't come again and he slowly lay down, Jamie giving him a questioning look which he answered with a shake of his head. 

Half an hour later and the house was unnaturally quiet. The card game had finished and the guards done with banging drawers and cupboard doors about. As they lay there in the darkness, another sound pierced the silence, a gunshot and a cry close by and suddenly cut off alerting them that something was happening. Only needing to pull on their boots, Mitch went to the window to look outside but could see nothing moving, no guards, no cars. Stealthily, keeping Jamie firmly behind him, he cracked the bedroom door a fraction and checked the hallway. There was still a light burning in the lounge, so he trod carefully and flattened himself against the wall, signing for Jamie to wait for him to return before leaving the bedroom. When he reached the corner of the lounge and cautiously peered into the room he was hardpressed not to gag. A desert hybrid was munching its way through the innards of one of the guards, the dead man's horrified expression frozen in a death mask. The sound of crunching was also coming from the kitchen, a quick peek into that room revealing a similar scene with two small hybrids, possibly juveniles, making a feast of one of the guards, a leg already eaten down to the bone. That took care of the front and back guards, but what about those patrolling the outside. Mitch made to retreat but one of the hybrids suddenly lifted it's head from its gory meal and fixed him with an unblinking stare. Mitch froze, keeping his hands in plain sight so the animal could see he had no weapons. A huge hybrid appeared at the ranchslider, the glass door open to the outside. It walked into the room, ignoring its pack mate enjoying its meal and walked up to Mitch. It stood tall on heavily muscled legs, its muzzle easily reaching the man's shoulder, Mitch not moving as the creature extended its neck to better sniff him. Razor sharp teeth were clearly visible behind the black lips lining the mouth, a hot breath washing over the human as the alpha inspected him. Slowly, Mitch lowered himself to the carpet, kneeling so that he was no longer taller than the hybrid, behaving as a submissive to the dominant male.  
“Mitch?” Jamie's soft call instantly drew the beast's attention, and Mitch started to shuffle on his knees back to where he'd left her. The hybrid growled and he froze, not daring to aggravate the beast. His heart was drumming double time, fear for Jamie making him move again, this time in a crouch, always backward down the hallway to where Jamie stood in the dark bedroom doorway.  
The hybrid stopped where the light no longer reached, allowing Mitch to stand up and walk backward, reaching Jamie in a few steps. Sensibly she had followed his order not to leave and now they stood in the hallway waiting for the hybrid to make its next move.  
“What happened to the guards?” Jamie asked. Mitch only able to shake his dead, the sound of crunching clearly heard even from where they stood.  
“Oh, God,” Jamie murmured. “Are they all dead?”  
Mitch could only shrug, he didn't know. As the hybrid stood, outlined in artificial light, unmoving, they left the bedroom, hand in hand, and made their way towards the back of the house. It was dark, but they could see a blood trail, black in the light of the moon, where another guard had met his silent demise, the back door wide open, an avenue for their escape. Once outside they walked cautiously around to where the truck was parked, still connected to the trailer. There was no sign of the other men supposed to be patrolling the grounds. 

This was their chance.


	13. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitch hits his stride and Jamie has a new role in life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that stuck with my second Zoo epic...not sure if I'll attempt another one, or a sequel for the first one, despite what I said. I think I might need to take a break and see what pops into the old noggin.  
> I'm also looking forward to some of the other authors on here carrying on with stories started, and maybe some added chapters to series in progress. I know I'm a freak and write at an appallingly fast rate, but I love what everyone else is doing too...again, thank you for all you kind feedback and kudos, and now enjoy the final installment.

The wind was brisk and getting stronger. Jamie watched sweeps of sand skitter across the road surface while Mitch unhooked the trailer to lighten the load and give them greater maneuverability. All the men left to guard them had been killed, in some cases partially eaten, by the hybrid pack. Why the creatures chose this night of all night they'd never know, only be thankful for the chance to escape what the leaders had planned for them, for her children.  
Mitch climbed into the truck and started the motor. He exchanged a look with her, then signed he would be taking a back road out of town and hoped that the wind would cover their tracks, giving them a head start. Jamie nodded and reached up for the hand strap to hold on. 

The route they took passed through the silent and empty streets, Mitch keeping his speed down for the first few streets until he calculated they were far enough away from the town center he could stamp on the accelerator. They were also running without lights, Mitch having broken all the tail and side lights, leaving only the headlights operational, but the full moon acted like a spotlight, their eyes quickly becoming accustomed to the strange black and white of their surroundings. When Jamie looked back, she could see the lights from the various vehicles illuminating the night sky, as if the city of Blythe was truly alive once more. 

The croplands beyond the houses were a maze of narrow roads and small canal bridges that Mitch used when they reached the end of suburbia and faced the endless expanse of fallow fields and irrigation ditches. Mitch had long ago memorized the simple layout and now navigated his way along the dirt road, hoping that the dust they kicked up wouldn't be noticed this far from the center of town. All too soon they ran out of road and headed across country, running roughly parallel with the highway but a mile or two inland until they turned a sharp left and headed for the airport runway, the whole area brightly illuminated by moonlight. The sound of the tires changed when they ran onto the tarmac, Mitch inching up the speed again, racing down the flat expanse towards the hanger. Jamie had never been so pleased to see the ugly building, a grin plastered on her face as they pulled in around the back.  
Mitch instantly signed that he would get the Beechcraft out of the way if Jamie could get the truck on board and warm up the plane. When she nodded, he scrambled out of the truck and went to the hanger door to push it open for the truck to get through. The whine of the motors lowering the boarding ramp seemed loud, but he ignored that, watching Jamie drive onboard before gunning the small motor of the plane mover and trundling that around the hanger to get to the Sullivan's plane and move it out of the way. He hooked up the plane and started to pull it clear, the entire operation slower than he'd have liked but he only had to get it clear of the hanger doors, which he did, stranding the mini-tractor and the plane at the side before running into the back of the hanger to reach the front doors and activate the hanger door opener. Again the noise seemed disproportionate to the action, but he did his best to ignore it, only moving when the doors were wide enough to allow their plane to leave. He could see the lights flashing and darted under the plane to remove the chocks holding the wheels in place. Flinging them aside, he did a quick visual check, unhooking the power cables that were bundled with other wires, and pushing them into the panel under the plane's belly. Now nothing was lying on the ground to impede their progress, Mitch running for the loading ramp, casting a quick glance towards Blythe through the open hanger doors. What he saw made him swallow...hard. 

Running up the ramp, he toggled the bay door closure, then wrenched the door open to the main body of the plane. In his head he was screaming for the plane to start moving, for him to be able to yell that he was aboard, to let Jamie know. Instead, he raced through the plane looking for her.  
“Mitch, I'm up here!” Hearing her voice made his heart hammer, his feet taking the stairs two at a time to reach her. As soon as their eyes met he signed that they were going to have company soon and could they get going now. Jamie's face paled and she made her way to one of the side couches, Mitch following. There she started to work on the remote control tablet while Mitch did up her seatbelt, the sound of the engines picking up as she taxied them out of the hanger onto the concrete apron in front of the airport offices.  
Mitch craned his neck to see out of the window behind him, seeing only a slice of a view but enough to tell him their impending escape had woken up Blythe's occupants and they weren't far away. He made a sign and Jamie muttered at him.  
“I'm going as fast as I can. We have to taxi to the runway, then get the engines up to full power, and given they've been down for awhile I can't just blast off without giving them a chance to warm up. We'll be out of here in five minutes...just five minutes.”  
Mitch turned to watch the progress of the lights, seeing some peel off from the main road and start to approach across country towards the airport buildings. They didn't have the luxury of five minutes.  
Jamie had the plane now positioned at the end of the runway nearest the buildings, making it clearly visible to anyone approaching from any direction, its grey metallic body probably lit up like a silver bullet in the full moonlight with the navigation lights flashing and landing lights still on.  
“Hold on,” Jamie murmured and pulled her finger along the slider, the whine from the motors increasing to almost deafening levels, another finger releasing the brakes once the power levels were sufficiently high. The plane started to move down the runway, picking up speed. A flash of light told them that headlights were coming at them from the side, Mitch staring out the window while Jamie kept her head down and worked the tablet. More vehicles were pouring onto the runway behind them giving chase and probably, although they couldn't hear them over the noise of the engines, shooting at them. Just before they ran out of runway the plane lifted off, the force pressing them both into the cushioning, the aircraft maintaining a steep incline, leaving Blythe and their former lives behind in the dust and frustration of those that had wanted to capture them, now left to mill around an empty airfield and watch the plane's lights be swallowed up by the night.  
Jamie kept them on a banking westerly course to avoid those on the ground knowing which direction they were ultimately going, but once they were past the mountain ridge that surrounded the valley, she punched in the destination they'd long ago discussed when planning contingency plans months ago. It was only a short hop, less than thirty minutes airtime to reach the airport in Laughlin. The place was still on the Colorado River, this time on the Nevada/Arizona state line, southeast of Las Vegas. It was a little over a two hours driving time north of Blythe, nestled in a river valley below the Dead Mountains, and south of Lake Mohave. It was sheltered, isolated and one of many temporary refuges they had mapped out as an alternative to Blythe.  
Soon they were swooping down on approach, the plane landing easily on the wide runway, a vast change from the backwater they'd come from. Using the camera on the nose of the plane, Jamie drew them close to the airport buildings and parked it there. As the engine cooled down, they both undid their safety belts and sat for a moment, hands joined. Fucktard chose that moment to meow very loudly at being woken from his beauty sleep to find his food bowl empty...again. That broke the tension and Mitch laughed, Jamie joining him until they were double up and tears in their eyes at their narrow escape. When the hysteria died away they fed the cat and retired to their room, both longing for a hot shower and their own bed. 

Before long they were curled up together, spooning one behind the other, clean, safe and content for the moment. Mitch had his arm about her, his hand splayed out over her distended belly, the baby kicking strongly now and pushing its hands and feet against the confining walls. Mitch could feel when the baby moved, the experience deeply moving. Jamie held her hand over his, feeling the movements as well, profoundly glad that her child was so active and alive within her.  
They were still too amped up from their narrow escape to want to sleep right away. Jamie had several thoughts chasing themselves around her head and she just had to speak.  
“Do you think they knew we were being held captive, and that was their way of freeing us?”  
Mitch tapped out 'yes' on her belly.  
“I'm almost sorry we had to leave them behind. Given we're not that far north, do you think they'll come visit?”  
Mitch snorted behind her and tapped out 'no', then 'not pets' on her skin.  
“I know they're not pets, but it is a possibility. I do hope those others don't try and kill them. I suppose they will try to hunt them down, in retribution for the men lost, but I imagine it will be harder than impossible to find them if they don't want to be found.”  
Mitch grunted behind her, his fingers still. She took that to mean he agreed with her. She remained quiet for a little then spoke again.  
“Do you think the pets will survive without us?”  
Mitch tapped out 'some'.  
“And all our hard work to keep those chooks and plants going, all for somebody else to benefit from.”  
She felt him shrug against her back and figured it meant he didn't care one way or the other. Beyond the plane was a new start, a new city to discover, possibly more animals to rescue and take care of, more stores to be sorted through, all that they'd done before they would need to do again, but this time with Jamie not so available to help. Then again, Mitch was more than capable and it would keep his mind off worrying about the forthcoming birth. She was worrying enough for both of them. 

They granted themselves a day off, staying on the plane and enjoying the comforts it offered, letting go of the tension that had marred the last few days in Blythe. Temperatures outside the plane soared into the forties, while aboard the plane the temperature was fighting to stay below thirty, clothes suddenly becoming optional in the heat. While in the hanger, protected from the sun, it hadn't used much power to keep the cabin temperature low, but for the while, until they could find something similar in Laughlin, they had to conserve power and not run the air conditioning at maximum. Hence the lack of clothing. Jamie rather enjoyed watching Mitch move about the plane in the altogether. He was several pounds lighter and bits of him were quite tanned from working outside, his startlingly white bottom a contrast to his lightly tanned back and arms. It also amused her that everytime his eyes fell on her his cock rose to the occasion with indecent haste. Mitch would look down the give a shrug and send her one of his deprecating closed mouth smiles, his eyes all crinkled at the corners behind his glasses. It was adorable. Of course, walking around in a state of constant arousal required some time to take care of said arousal to allow him to concentrate again on whatever he was working on, his current position with his hard cock encased in her moist, relaxed body one that was frequently enjoyed. It was most comfortable for her to lay on her left side with a pillow supporting her baby belly and under her right knee, giving Mitch easy access to her from behind, his body snug up against her back while his hips moved smoothly to fill her up. His hands played freely over her body, tweaking an engorged nipple here, stroking her clit there, his mouth exploring her nape and neck, suckling her earlobes before mapping the freckles on her shoulder and arm. They could rock together for ages like this, often her climax coming in a rush, sometimes as a slow burn making her toes curl. Mitch would sometimes hold her top leg up, opening her to his thrusts, his soft grunts and groans making her wild for him, her hand reaching back to burrow into his long hair as she arched and came around him, his own completion not far behind, the pair of them moaning their pleasure into sweaty, satisfied skin. 

One bout would often turn in to two after a rest, neither of them inclined to try and concentrate on anything in the heat, Mitch the only one to move, fetching cold drinks and cool clothes to wipe Jamie down and keep her comfortable. So was spent the rest of the night and the first day in Laughlin, a day of making love, of celebrating life and their escape from what could have been a terrible situation for both of them, let alone their unborn child. While she enjoyed Mitch's wonderful hands stroking her body, she was well aware that it was likely the leaders of the convoy would have split them up before long, separating them from being able to plot an escape, possibly even getting rid of Mitch so that she had no support at all and was reliant on them for everything. Such depressing thoughts made her reach back to still his hips, Mitch pulling out so she would roll over and face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  
“I could have lost you,” she whispered, her throat closing up with grief. Mitch shook his head, not quite understanding what she was saying, but seeing the fear and grief in her eyes all the same. Jamie swallowed and tried to make him understand.  
“If we hadn't gone, they would surely have split us up, kept us apart from each other, maybe even killed you, because I know you would have fought them, I just know...” she gulped, a tear escaping to soak into the pillow. Mitch leaned forward and kissed her, his eyes soft and warm, his hands strong and comforting where they cradled her face. He shook his head slowly, refuting her fears, his eyes roaming around the bedroom briefly before coming back to her, reminding her they were in their own bed, in their own room, on their plane and safe. Determined to banish the gloomy 'what if's' from her eyes, he kissed her again then started to kiss his way down her face to her neck, eventually to her heavy breasts, lavishing a sweet amount of time on them, his hands molding and shaping them, while her own fingers combed through his hair and scratched his scalp. Soon she wanted more and asked him to help her onto her hands and knees, a cushion under her belly to support it while he positioned himself behind her, sinking in to the balls, both of them letting out a moan of pleasure to be so joined. Jamie pulled more pillows over to support her head and shoulders, leaving her bottom for Mitch to plunder and make free with, his impudent thumb smearing their combined emissions over her puckered hole and pressing inwards while he kept up a steady and deep rhythm, Jamie moving in counterpoint to his thrusts. It was all over far too soon, Jamie coming with deep waves of pleasure clenching her body around him, pulling him into his own orgasm, his hips jerking against her, his head thrown back while her internal muscles pulsed around him. 

Later, Mitch acted as her body servant and bathed her in cool water, Jamie too tired to drag herself out of bed and to the shower, giving herself up to the luxury of having his hands massage as well as wash her from her toes to her fingers and all points in between. She fell asleep somewhere between his attention to her navel and her neck, Mitch finishing his task before leaving her to sleep and taking a quick cold shower to refresh himself. Soon it would be a new day and they would have to leave their haven and see what Laughlin had to offer. 

They were both up early, ready to explore. The sun was still behind the distant ridges, so the expected heat was still an hour away, enough time to allow them to walk about without being uncomfortable. Their first mission was to find a hanger to hide the plane. Mitch had already made a short search and found a baggage cart that they'd use to ride around and see the sights. Laughlin was substantially larger than Blythe, but still the basic layout, a huge hanger positioned just off the main apron with its own tarmac covered runway leading up to the doors, twice as big as the one in Blythe. They had already made a quick pitstop at the airport security office in the terminal to find out what was locked up and where the keys were. It appeared that the evacuation of Laughlin had used every available flying craft, including all the military helicopters, passenger planes, and private craft, plus the historic warbirds usually stored there. Nothing that could fly was left behind, only those with no motors or some other critical reason for them to be grounded had been discarded.  
The huge hanger was mostly empty, only one jet plane sitting forlornly at the back. All the usual equipment was present, the forklifts, tractors, mobile stairs, trucks and tankers, standing where they'd been abandoned, some inside buildings, many just sitting on the tarmac, drivers door left wide open. Most would be left where they sat, no need for them to be moved as long as they didn't impede a quick take off. Jamie made note of those vehicles to be checked out, and Mitch had his first task, to remove the jet plane and get their plane under cover as soon as possible. In that, Jamie was able to help, taxiing the plane right into the hanger once Mitch had it cleared out, the doors at the rear the same at the front, meaning they could exit the hanger and still get onto the runway with the minimum of delay. Another bonus of the black tarmac was the lack of track marks to indicate anyone was moving around and using the equipment. Blythe had had a concrete apron that clearly showed regular track marks in the dust and sand, but here the black tarmac generated a steady updraft that swept the expanse of runways and road clear of any build-up of debris, hiding any tracks.

Temperatures outside the hanger were starting to climb into the forties, Jamie glad for the shade from the hanger. Mitch had assembled the collection of vehicles she had earmarked earlier, all of them ranged down the sides of the plane. The front hanger doors were wide open and would remain open until they could organize a power source to run the motor. They would have to start from scratch again, but neither was making a big deal about it. They had the plane, they had nominal power for the time being and they had each other. The rest would follow. 

Five weeks passed in the blink of an eye. They now had power, transport for every conceivable purpose, including a boat to ferry them back and forth across the Colorado River, and a security network of cameras to warn them of anyone approaching from north or south. Laughlin only had half the permanent population of Blythe, usually around seven to eight thousand people in the offseason, almost all employed by the multitude of hotels and casinos that towered over the river bank west side. In the first few days, before they secured an unlimited power source from solar panels on the roof of the terminal, they used diesel generators which enabled them to once more enjoy the luxury of air conditioning within the plane. Outside they covered up and kept to the shade, exchanging the battered truck for a more luxurious model with which to tool around town in. It seemed fitting to ride down the wide boulevards between the swanky hotels in something less careworn than the old truck. They still kept it, it just stayed in the loading bay more often than not.  
Life on a riverbank is like living by the seaside, the beaches in front of the hotels providing mature palm trees and sandy beaches allowing access to the river itself, Jamie loving just floating in the water, her bulky body supported and weightless, no bathing suit required. They often ended a long, hot day with a dip in the river to cool off and just relax before driving back to the airport.

They were sitting on the riverbank, soaking in the water and watching the sunset when a hotel across on the other side started to belch out smoke from a window halfway up the side. They watched in horrid fascination as the entire building slowly succumbed to the growing conflagration, the black smoke blown away from where they sat by the evening easterly, but filling the pink colored sky and the city westward in a dense smog. While all around them darkened, the fire illuminated the buildings beside it and reflected in the river surface. It was both strange and beautiful to watch something that no one was trying to control, the flames leaping skyward to consume everything, Mitch wondering if it would spread to the buildings either side. Huge embers were wafted into the air, carried by the wind and the heat wave, sometimes a cascade of burning debris would fall down from high up like a spectacular firework going off. When it was full dark the sight was truly awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. Bits of burning debris were falling into the river and being carried away, that alone making Jamie nervous and wanting to leave and return to the plane. Mitch didn't argue with her, just helped her aboard their electric buggy and drove slowly across the runway towards the hanger, the light from the flames reflecting off the multiple glass windows of the terminal up ahead of them. 

Jamie sat in front of the bank of screens and tried to connect with Skype again. There had been no word or any sort of communication with Abe or anyone on the team in more than three months, but she still tried every week, leaving an encrypted message, hoping that one of them would try to contact her or reply.  
The software was opening and she looked up, hearing a familiar ding indicating a message. Eagerly she opened the link, then shouted for Mitch to join her. When he arrived, she pointed to the screen and he read the message, a grin breaking out over his face.  
Jamie grabbed his hand and squeezed. “They're coming!”

The days passed and the temperature started to drop from sweltering in the early forties down to the mid-thirties. It was September, the nights appreciably cooler and Jamie felt as big as a whale, her belly extending so far in front, she had to lean back to walk forward, or waddle, which better described her gait. Climbing the stairs from the lab to the lounge was proving a trial, so she tended to stay in the airconditioned comfort of the upper levels. Mitch had found an inflatable spa pool and set it up in one of the spare rooms, placing it close to the bathroom so she could soak and float, giving her back and joints some relief. She had been feeling crampy all day, her back aching, the main reason she was enjoying a soak. Mitch had helped her into the soft-sided spa then lit the candles she'd placed around the room, a stack of towels ready for when she got out. Floating softly in the scented water, she leaned her head back on the side and closed her eyes. Her breasts had started to leak milk at inconvenient times, Mitch taking advantage when he made love to her, the ultra-sensitive nipples giving up their bounty, sweet and silky on his tongue. They had continued to make love, taking things slow and gentle, discovering new territory, enjoying mutual massages and foot rubs, giving to each other while not always expecting to reach a climax.  
While she luxuriated in the warm water, she wondered how Mitch was coming on with his efforts to rediscover his voice. He'd set up his purpose-designed computer in one of the storage rooms towards the back of the plane, banning Jamie from hearing what he was doing. So far he'd kept any results to himself, disappearing for an hour every day to work on his exercises to regain his ability to speak. His ability in signing had significantly improved and expanded in vocabulary and speed, Jamie sometimes asking him to slow down so she could 'read' what he was trying to say. He frequently told her he loved her using sign language, but she could see his frustration in not being able to tell her in his own words. Despite not having memories from the past twenty years, Jamie herself, the records and journals on the computers and in hard copies had largely caught him up on all the important events of his life, and they had created a slew of new memories in the last six months since her pregnancy was revealed. In all ways possible they were back together, as in love as before and closer than ever.  
A particularly sharp stab in her side roused her from her doze, her hands smoothing over her distended stomach, a kick from the baby reassuring her that things were okay. Opening her eyes she looked down her body, expecting to see a foot or hand push outwards against her skin, instead, she saw a widening tinge of pink flowing into the clear water of the spa. Even as she opened her mouth to scream for Mitch another gripping cramp tightened across her stomach, more fluid leaving her body as she struggled to get on her knees.  
“Mitch! MITCH!”

Mitch handed her another cloth to wipe the sweat from her face. It had been hours since her waters broke, the water in the spa changed once already, Jamie spending that time just walking about the upper level, bending over each time a contraction squeezed her belly, the skin tight until the contraction ended, then softening again. She was naked, not bothering with clothing at such a time, Mitch doing his best to support her, sometimes acting as something to lean against, other times sacrificing the circulation in his hands for her to grip when the contraction squeezed hard. He had been reading all he could about midwifery, expanding his knowledge to be as prepared as possible for any medical eventuality. It still didn't prepare him for dealing with seeing Jamie in so much pain and working so hard to bring his child into the world. In that, he was a typical expectant father, just one with more knowledge packed into his brain than most. Jamie was back in the spa pool, on her knees and leaning against the side, riding out another long contraction. She was fully dilated and ready to deliver, her current position letting gravity aid her baby entering the world. Mitch was beside her, checking on progress, a stethoscope around his neck to check the baby's heart rate as its mother labored. He reached between Jamie's legs with his latex-gloved hand and felt the head of his baby crowning. As the contraction ended, the head was pulled back inside. Mitch pressed a kiss to Jamie's shoulder and she pushed again, teeth gritted, screaming loudly as her abdomen tightened unbearably and the baby was pushed further down the canal to daylight. Jamie panted heavily when the urge to push subsided briefly, then she bore down again, this time Mitch feeling the head emerge fully, then a shoulder then suddenly the body was in his hands, along with a rush of fluids, blood and umbilical cord included. He lifted the baby, still attached, out of the water and turned it over in his hand so it lay face down to clear any water or mucus from nose and mouth, then he quickly wrapped it in a towel and held it while Jamie slowly turned to face him, sitting down in the pool so that Mitch could place the baby on her chest. Exhausted but excited, Jamie lifted her hands to cradle her child, Mitch quickly clamping the pulsing cord then pausing, Jamie raising her head to meet his eyes.  
“You do the honours,” Jamie told him, watching as he severed the cord, their child letting out a thin wail, tiny fingers clenched into fists, a wrinkled face with eyes tight shut topped with a tuft of dark hair. Jamie moved the towel back to see the sex of their child, her mouth pulling into a soft smile to find she had a beautiful daughter. Mitch was concentrating on delivering the afterbirth, Jamie oblivious to what he was doing, completely engrossed in inspecting the delicate fingers and toes of her baby, the soft wails growing in strength as lungs adapted from their water world to one of air. Mitch quickly bagged up the afterbirth and stripped off his gloves, finally giving up his midwife persona for just being a new dad. He gazed at Jamie and their daughter with eyes not quite dry, he had a distant memory of going through something similar with Clementine, but there had always been the distance of milling medical staff between him and the actual process of giving birth, this time he'd been the only one there to witness the miracle and he found it profoundly moving. Jamie looked exhausted but also radiant, smiling down at the scrap of humanity on her chest, a finger tracing the babies features, tiny fingers wrapping around its mother's digit when it was offered.  
Mitch leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jamie's forehead, a lump in his throat choking him when she looked up at him with such love in her face he was blinded for a moment. He held out his hands and she lifted the baby for him to take, Mitch cradling his daughter in his hands, staring at the miniature human, so vulnerable and fragile, so dependant on him to provide all she would need in the future. Jamie shifted in the spa bath, holding on to her deflating belly, indicating she was ready to get out. Mitch carried his child over to the bed and lay it down on the covers, wrapping it in in a dry towel while he went to help its mother out of the bath.  
Jamie stepped out on shaky legs, glad to hold on to Mitch's shoulders as he crouched in front of her and dried her off. He had a pad ready to put between her legs then wrapped her in a fluffy towel before picking her up and carrying her into their bedroom and placing her on the bed. He left her and returned seconds later with their daughter, Jamie laying on her side, propped up on pillows to allow her to offer her breast to her child, the nipple already leaking milk in readiness for suckling. Mitch had wrapped the baby snugly and it lay there, eyes still screwed shut, but mouth open as if seeking something. Jamie brought her nipple to her baby's mouth and watched in awed fascination as her child took its first suckle. Mitch sat on the side of the bed and watched, equally in awe of the tiny creature they'd made, a tear escaping his best efforts and sliding down his cheek until he wiped it away. Jamie looked up and beamed at him, never looking more beautiful to him than she did at that moment, semi-wrapped in a towel, her hair damp from sweat and her face wiped clean of all makeup. She was perfect.  
Jamie soon nodded off, exhausted after all her hard work, the baby only taking a small amount of milk from its first breastfeed. Mitch gathered his daughter up to allow Jamie to sleep undisturbed, and placed the small bundle on his shoulder, supporting its tiny bottom with one hand, its legs moving against him, eyes finally opening to stare unfocused at the world around it. He walked to the easy chair brought into the room and settled in to it, the baby laying across his collarbone, just under his chin. Lulled by the warms from his body and the sound of his heartbeat, the baby was soon asleep, Mitch watching over mother and child with his heart full of love for them both. 

Jamie awoke with a start, her hand searching for the bundle she'd left beside her. Finding nothing, she lifted her head and did a quick search of the room, her eyes lighting on the picture made by her lover and her child, both asleep in the armchair together. She lay against the heaped pillows and enjoyed watching them, the baby moving once in a while, obviously quite happy on her father's chest, Mitch still as a rock, breathing deeply, one hand keeping his child in place. She almost wished she had a camera to capture the scene. Moving carefully, she got off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, needing to take care of business and change the pad. That done, she exchanged the towel for a fluffy bathrobe, belting it across her deflated abdomen, her mind still adjusting to not having a heavy weight across her middle. After cleaning her teeth, and brushing the tangles from her over long hair, she returned to the bedroom to find Mitch awake and smiling at her. He held out their daughter for her to take, which she did. He stretched and got out of the chair, signing that he'd go fetch them something to eat and drink. After he left, Jamie carried her baby over to the bed and sat down, baring her breast to put the baby to suckle, her child latching on despite its small mouth, pulling all the nipple past its lips and drawing hard. It was a strange sensation, similar to what Mitch had been doing, but even that hadn't brought the sense that she was finally fulfilling her purpose in life, that her breast was, at last, being used for what they were designed for – to nurture a child. She lowered her head to kiss the dark, downy fluff on the crown, her fingers stroking the starfish-like hand plucking at her breast. After a few minutes, she broke the suction on her right nipple, the baby wailing at being disturbed and pull away from feeding, the cries quickly stopped when another engorged nipple was pressed into its mouth after being turned to face the other way. While her child suckled strongly, Jamie stroked a finger over her baby's head, marveling at the velvet texture of the skin and silky feel of the hair sticking up like a mohawk. It was so like how Mitch's wayward hair behaved she had to laugh, startling the baby into letting go of her breast to let out a wail of surprise. Lifting her child onto her shoulder she crooned softly and patted its back to bring up any wind, her movements slow and gentle, her heart so full of love she wanted to share it with the world. 

The tempo of their days changed with the arrival of their daughter. They slept when the baby slept and were awake when she was. Jamie healed from the delivery and went back to doing Yoga do help regain her figure, although there was no disguising the stretch marks that snaked like silvery lines over her belly and thighs. Mitch found a Moses basket that would be carried to wherever they were, baby inside, asleep or awake, when Jamie needed a break and Mitch took his turn watching over her. Before long it was time to decide on a name.  
“Abigail?”  
Mitch shook his head.  
“Stefanie?”  
Mitch frowned. He was currently walking around the bedroom with the baby on his shoulder. The tuft of hair on her head was getting bushier, wide dark eyes staring out at the world under dark brows, arms and legs waggling.  
Jamie tried again. “How about Hermione?”  
Mitch turned to face her and rolled his eyes, then shook his head vehemently. The baby let out a loud burp as if to underscore his opinion. Her parents laughed at her surprised expression.  
Mitch signed a series of letters with his free hand and Jamie smiled.  
“Helen?”  
Mitch nodded.  
“Helen. I like it. How about Helena, Helena Morgan. It has a nice ring to it.”  
Mitch grinned, balancing the baby carefully while pulling something out of his jeans pocket. In front of a very surprised Jamie, he got down on one knee and held out a ring. Carefully, Jamie reached out and took it, staring down at the single large stone set in yellow gold.  
“Yes,” she answered his silent question, her lips curving into a delighted smile. Mitch got up and handed over their daughter, Helena, and waited for Jamie to settle her on her shoulder. He then took the ring and slid it onto Jamie's third finger on her left hand, lifting it afterward to his lips for a kiss. 

Later, they lay on the bed, side by side, the baby, Helena asleep in the basket at the end of the bed, on its stand. Jamie was holding her hand up to admire the ring, letting the diamond catch the light.  
“It's beautiful.”  
Mitch reached over to turn her face towards him, a finger on her cheek. “You....bea..utiful.” The whispered words an obvious struggle, but still clear. Jamie stared at him, tears springing to her eyes.  
“Oh, my God. Mitch?” she placed her hands on his cheeks, staring at his mouth. “You can talk again!!”  
He grinned back at her, rolling his eyes at her stating the obvious. “Only...small,” he replied, hesitantly, his voice rough with disuse, little more than a breathy whisper. Jamie leaned forward and kissed him, so happy for him.  
“Say my name...” she asked, kissing him again. “Please, say my name.”  
He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “J-Jamie...”  
She kissed him deeply, her cup of joy completely overflowing, her heart so full she thought it would burst.  
“I love you.”  
Mitch gave a lopsided grin. “Love...” He swallowed, then tried again. “Love...more.”  
Jamie let out a sob and kissed him again, the passion rising between them as easily as it ever had, their coupling hasty but heartfelt, Jamie sitting in his lap, the pair of them rocking together wrapped tightly in each other's arms in easy harmony while their child slumbered peacefully. 

Jamie held her daughter in the crook of her left arm while she typed on the keyboard, giving Abe the directions of where they were. It had been several weeks since the last communication, but now they were close and she could barely contain her excitement. Lifting her daughter up, she blew a raspberry on the baby's soft belly, the child chortling when she did it again and again. When they tired of that game, Jamie carried her up to the bedroom and settled in the easy chair to feed her. Mitch was away gathering supplies. Laughlin was no Blythe with a multitude of shops and businesses to support a large population, instead, it boasted a wealth of hotels and casinos, most of its resources trucked in from Las Vegas to the north. Still, there was a suburban area that proved more productive, Mitch able to restart another chook house, this one including ducks, as well as resurrect several glass houses to raise fresh produce. There were pets, but they had fared much better than those in Blythe, and a smaller feeding station was quickly established for those that needed it. The hotel fire they'd witnessed months ago hadn't set the neighboring buildings alight, so they were able to be used as another source of food, the storage pantries keeping everything in good heart. They had access to bulk quantities of untainted dry goods like rice and nuts, and every canned and bottle foodstuff you could imagine. They had created a storage room on the plane for just such a purpose, ferrying a ton of the goods to the hanger to be stored in the belly of the plane so if they had to leave in a hurry, they had all they would need to survive unsupported for months.  
Jamie was just putting baby Helena down for a nap when she heard an insistent beeping. Assured that Helena was well asleep, she left the bedroom and went downstairs to find where the alarm was coming from.  
It turned out to be one of their early warning systems, a motion detector that monitored the highway from the south. A screen showed two vehicles traveling at quite a pace, heading straight for Laughlin.  
Jamie grabbed the shortwave and toggled the handset. “Mitch, we have company. Two coming in from the south. Where are you, over?”  
The radio crackled for a moment, then Mitch's gravelly voice came through the speaker. “Lockdown....back soon.....over.”  
Jamie replaced the handset in its holder and ran to the back of the hanger, sprinting down the landing ramp and across the hangar floor to the door controls. Hitting the button, she watched the huge door slide easily across the groove in the floor until the two halves joined in the middle, sealing the doors to the outside. She checked that the small door set in the main hanger doors was locked and secure, the same with all the doors down the side as well. Only at the back did she leave a gap in the hanger door, stopping them closing and leaving enough room for a vehicle to get through. True to his word, Mitch was already on the airport grounds, the cherry red four by four speeding towards her. As soon as the truck was inside, Jamie got the door rolling again, shutting them as tight as the front. Then she was running to join Mitch at the top of the landing ramp.  
“News?” he asked, pulling his jacket out of the truck and slamming the door. Jamie shook her head. “I didn't stop, just got the doors shut and waited for you.” They left the loading bay and went straight to the hub, the motion camera still following the vehicles traveling along the highway, a plume of dust in their wake. Mitch switched to another camera stationed nearer to the road, the view changing to show a closer view of the highway, the vehicles rapidly approaching, one on each side of the road, the windows reflecting the low sun and hiding how many people were in the cabs.  
“I can't see who they are!” Jamie muttered in frustration, toggling the zoom option, but getting no better images to help them. A distant wail alerted them both that the baby was awake. Mitch signed that he'd go get her, check if she needed changing and then bring her down, Jamie smiling her gratitude. While Mitch went to play 'daddy', Jamie kept watching the two trucks hurtling down the highway, neither trying to be shy in their approach, as if wanting someone to see them and react. Both trucks were towing substantial trailers, all the vehicles looking well traveled and covered in dust. She stared at them, trying to find some indication of who they were. If they were from the convoy, they'd hardly be dragging a couple of huge trailers with them, they'd want to be fast and light and able to 'hit 'n' run', and definitely be more stealthy. These vehicles were fairly screaming “look at me!!”  
Her concentration was broken when Mitch appeared carrying Helena, the baby fussing for its mother for a feed. Jamie pushed away from the desk and took her child in her arms, pushing aside her shirt to put the babe to her breast. Helena once more settled, they both turned to look at the screen. Mitch switched the view to one on the outskirts of Laughlin, the vehicles by-passing the turnoff for Bullhead city and heading straight for downtown, riverside Laughlin itself. 

Dariela drove slowly through the cityscape, all of them gaping at the burnt out shell of one of the tower blocks.  
“That must have been spectacular!” Abe commented, his son, Isaac leaning across the back seat to see better. Pizza barked and bounced excitedly, the scent of water heavy in the air as they followed a road down between the tall buildings and parked on the riverbank. The Colorado flowed slowly past, the huge palm trees providing much-needed shade to the small, sandy beach below the carpark and wide grassy bank. The second car had also pulled up, the occupants climbing out and stretching after their long trip.  
“This is nice,” Clementine remarked, tucking little Sam into his carry pack, the nearly one-year-old kicking his legs as she tried to get them to thread through the leg holes of the frame. Sam senior laughed and picked up the backpack, Clem helping him hoist it onto his shoulders, child safely strapped in. Big Sam, with little Sam on his back, started to walk down to the water, Clem grabbing a bag from the truck and jamming a hat on her head before joining them. From the same truck came the tall, lanky form of Jackson Oz, his hands going to his back to relieve the ache there.  
“I'm getting too old for these road trips,” he moaned.  
“Jeez, Jackson, you're only a year older than me. Get a grip, old man!” His partner, Tessa, retorted, laughing to take the sting out of it.  
Isaac and Pizza were already out of the truck and sprinting down to the water's edge. Abe wandered over to where Jackson and Tessa stood. “Do you think this is the place?” Tessa asked.  
Dariela waved to them as she followed her son, the slight swell of her pregnancy hidden under a long, fluttering tunic. Abe waved back and watched her go. All three women in their group were in varying stages of being with child. Dariela and Tessa were still in their first three months, while Clementine was already six months gone and showing a sizable bump.  
“I think if we read Jamie's last message correctly, then this is the place they last landed. And if that is the case, they will already know we are here.” Abe replied, shading his eyes and watching his son launch himself into the river and start swimming about, the dog following closely.  
Tessa turned her head to look around as if expecting Mitch and Jamie to pop out of one of the windows above them. “Then I guess we get comfortable and wait for them to turn up?”  
“Sounds like a plan,” Jackson agreed, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “I'm just going to...” he pointed at the others down at the water's edge and waggled his eyebrows. Tessa sighed and smiled back.  
“Fine, you boys get going, I'll bring the towels.”  
Jackson let out a whoop. “Last one in is a rotten wildebeest!” He took off, his backache gone, forgotten before the lure of sparkling, cool water. Abe wasn't far behind, the friends charging into the water side by side and throwing up spray over everyone nearby. Both had been fully clothed, and only now started to take off waterlogged boots and toss them to the beach. 

Mitch stood on the roof of the airport terminal and stared through the powerful binoculars at the family group frolicking in the water. If he hadn't recognized all the others, he surely recognized the tall, unmistakable frame of Abraham Kenyatta, which would make the other man likely Jackson Oz, the younger slighter man Sam Parker, father to his daughter's child. And then he spotted his Clementine, taller than he expected but with the same long, blond hair, currently covered with a large floppy hat, but still the same as when she was a child. His first daughter was here, just across the river, and playing with her first child. 

He hurried back to the plane, opening the rear of the hanger to allow the new truck to pass through, then ran to the loading ramp to get Jamie and his newest daughter ready to meet the rest of the family. Jamie was already way ahead of him, putting the last few items she felt she needed into a pack when he skidded to a halt outside their bedroom.  
Mitch was out of breath but pointed to roughly where the others were. “Here!” He stated excitedly. Jamie grinned back at him and handed him the backpack.  
“Of course. I'll bring Helena, you go pack the truck and put the car seat in.”  
Mitch leaned forward and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a long, wonderful kiss. His new ring was cool against her skin, still bright despite him wearing it twenty-four seven, whatever he was doing. Jamie had insisted they find him a ring to wear to match the one he gave her, a pleasurable afternoon spent rifling through several hotel gem shops, not all of them completely cleared out when the population was evacuated. They found one that matched hers for simplicity and style, the wide band sitting proudly on his left hand as her diamond did on hers. Given that neither of them was particularly religious, they still found a pretty stone chapel set high up one of the local hillsides. It was rustic and charming and they combined exchanging vows with christening Helena at the same time, the day capped off with a lavish picnic by the river. Jamie had worn something light and flowy, decorated with tiny embroidered stars while Mitch had simply worn a long sleeved, open neck shirt over black jeans decorated with a studded belt. The baby had been dressed in as little as possible and yelled loudly when her father poured water over her head. The formalities completed, they all got back into the truck and drove slowly back to the river.  
Mitch later carried Jamie over the threshold of their bedroom as a nod to the traditions, Jamie laughing at his gallantry, kissing him senseless seconds later. 

Mitch pulled back and kissed his wife on the nose. “Time...to...m-meet...family,” he said, still slowly but getting clearer with practice. Jamie nodded and turned to gather up Helena.

They drove slowly over the bridge, staring upstream to where their friends occupied one of the riverside beaches. They'd found a collection of inflatable toys stored in one of the cabanas and several were escaping downriver to the bridge, bobbing brightly on the water, sometimes twirling around when an eddy caught them. They drove deliberately slowly so the red truck could be clearly seen, their approach visible to anyone who cared to look.  
Jamie was a bundle of nervous energy, clutching Mitch's free hand as he tooled the truck along the main boulevard, Helena chortling in the back seat, her hands batting at the toys strung up in front of her. He turned right into the lane between the hotels, bringing him up to where the other trucks and trailers were parked. Everyone was there to meet them. 

Mitch and Jamie both got out of their truck on the same side, standing together, hand in hand and facing the people they regarded as family. It had been a year since they'd all been in one place together, with major changes on both sides of the divide. Abe came forward first, throwing his arms wide and gathering them both into his embrace, squeezing them and laughing at the same time. Jamie was released only to find herself engulfed by Dariela, the emotions of the moments displayed in as many tears as there was laughter and joy. Mitch was welcomed by everyone with hugs and back slaps, some jokes about his long hair, which he currently wore caught up in a man-bun, the look definitely more rockstar than scientist now. Combined with his leaner physique and tanned exterior he had to endure some teasing about where was the real Mitch Morgan. After the initial greeting, it was time to drop the bombshell. Jamie returning to the truck to bring out baby Helena from her car seat.  
As one, the group collectively dropped their jaws in surprise. Abe looked confused, as did Jackson, the two men exchanging looks. Dariela, although initially shocked, quickly asked for a cuddle, Jamie handing the baby over, Tessa and Clementine both approaching to be introduced to the latest addition. It was about then that it was noticed that Clem was herself heavily pregnant, Sam grinning proudly, his son riding his shoulders and watching the adults with a bemused, wide-eyed stare, his thumb in his mouth while the other clutched his father's hair. Jackson and Abe bombarded Mitch with questions, but he simple mimed that he couldn't talk which effectively silenced that line of questioning. Then the rings were noticed and a new round of excited talk was started, the group starting to gravitate to the shade of the huge palms and the chairs set out at their base. Isaac, quickly bored by the adult's endless chatter, was already back in the water with Pizza bounding around him. Baby Helena also objected to all the new faces and started to wail, her father plucking her out of Jamie's arms to carry her in his, the child quickly settling, Mitch ignoring the startled looks his simple actions generated. Clem had already given her father a welcoming hug but later approached with Sam and her son in tow, the four of them getting to know each other while the party went on around them. 

Jamie was in earnest discussion with Dariela while feeding Helena, the day starting to wind down, the breeze off the river a welcome relief from the heat still bouncing off the land. Mitch walked over to the two women and crouched down to give Jamie a kiss, the baby oblivious to its parents, too engrossed in her current feed to care less. Dariela watched the loving exchange with a smug look. When Mitch left she turned knowing eyes on Jamie.  
“So, you got your Mitch back, after all.”  
Jamie smiled at her and ducked her head. “I have a Mitch back, not necessarily the original Mitch.”  
Dariela goggled at her. “The man is gorgeous, thinks you are the sun and the moon, and he can't talk. I'd say you hit the jackpot with this one.”  
Jamie laughed. “He can talk, he's been working so hard and thinks it will come back to something like before eventually.”  
“Shame. Not being able to talk is quite an asset, if you ask me.”  
Jamie smiled. “You can't fool me. If Abe was so bad, why are you carrying his second child?”  
Dariela looked over to see where Abe was. “Don't tell the big fool this, his ego is already huge, but he's quite the best lover a woman could want. We both put our hands up to be guinea pigs for the cure, but unknown to me, Abe went and fiddled with the formula, something about adding some of that damn hybrid goo to the mix. Before I knew what was happening we were going at it like rabbits, and I was knocked up a month later. Who knew? But the squid goo not only kick-started the whole reproductive cycle it also added a bit of viagra into the mix. I couldn't walk for a week.”  
They laughed together, Tessa wandering over to join them. It was the first time Jamie had met the woman Jackson had been living with on the west coast, but she liked what she saw.  
“So, if I understand this right, you've actually known a number of different men, all of them in the same body?” Tessa asked.  
Jamie blushed, baby Helena now on her shoulder bringing up a bit of spit with her wind.  
“I guess that's one way of looking at it. There was the Mitch I knew when we first met...the retiring, cynical loner who didn't like people and was very buttoned down and a bit self-destructive.”  
“A bit?” Dariela snorted, but Jamie glared at her and she shooshed.  
Jamie continued. “Then there was the Mitch I discovered hidden under that bluster, who I fell in love with, the man dedicated to finding the cure, who protected me by putting himself between me and danger whenever it arose. After him, there was the Mitch I returned to after my walk in the woods, he was still wanting to protect me but I shut him out and pushed him away. Not surprising he had an interrupted fling with his ex-girlfriend, Allison.” She paused, then took a deep breath and carried on. “Of course, then he died, so when Clem and I rescued him I met Mitch number four, who had missed out on a decade of his life, or so we thought and had to find his feet in a strange new world. That Mitch was the one I first made love to.”  
Dariela rolled her eyes. “God, don't we know it. You two were animals!”  
Jamie blushed again and glared at Dariela. “Well, you and Abe were not exactly quiet yourselves.”  
Tessa laughed. “Ladies, ladies...Jamie, carry on with your tale, it's fascinating.”  
Jamie grumped then smiled. “Where was I? Oh, yes, Mitch number four. Of course, he disappeared when the bio drive in his head went whacko and he turned into Charles Duncan.” She blew out a breath. “That turned into a ride and a half. You didn't get to meet him, Dariela, but he was a complete prick and cold, so cold.”  
Dariela nodded. “Abe told me some of what happened. How did you cope?”  
Jamie fussed with the baby for a few minutes to distract herself. It was one thing to joke about how many sides of Mitch she'd encountered, another to discuss the darker aspects of her relationship with Duncan. Those memories were tucked away into a private box for nobody else to know about.  
“I coped. Then the bio drive failed and I was faced with the latest reset...”  
“Mitch number six!” Tessa announced, with just a touch of glee.  
“Yeah. Mitch number six.” Jamie repeated, her gaze dropping to the ring on her finger. “He didn't remember the last twenty years, which rather put a cat amongst the pigeons. He wasn't particularly happy about the situation...”  
“I bet he wasn't!” said Dariela, making faces at Helena with mixed reactions from the baby.  
“...but he came around, and now he is as you see him. Mitch number six and I think the best of them all.”  
All three women turned to regard Mitch standing beside the other men, his head turning a second later as if feeling the three pairs of eyes on him. He shrugged and sent them all a crooked smile as if asking “what?”  
Jamie blew him a kiss and turned away, all of them giggling among themselves to the consternation of the men only a few steps away. 

Very much later that night, they lay in their bed, tired but not asleep. Helena was back in her basket, snuffling away to herself, dreaming whatever babies dreamed of, Fucktard curled up on the easy chair, his tail over his face.  
Jamie had her head on Mitch's shoulder, her hand over his heart, feeling the steady thud under her fingers, proof of his living, loving and laying beside her.  
“It's going to be wonderful,” she said, a squeeze from the hand wrapped around her shoulder his only response.  
“You're going to be able to show the guys what you've discovered about the hybrids, the world already has one cure for sterility and we could spread it further if we wanted to, or just find a place to start a fresh life for everyone and our children.”  
Mitch's other hand came up and started to sign, but she captured it. “Tell me.” She heard him give a small sigh, then his chest lifted as he drew in a deep breath.  
“Here....home.” His gravelly rough voice was music to her ears.  
“You think we should stay here and make this our home? We certainly have an endless water supply, and enough food to last a number of years yet. With the surveillance set up, we won't ever be surprised again by strangers, good or bad. There are enough of us to put up a decent defense if needs be, and we still have the plane to whisk us all away as a last resort.”  
She felt him nod, agreeing with all her points. “Then if the other's agree, this is home!” she concluded.  
Mitch spoke again. “Any...where...you...Helena...home.”  
Jamie felt her eyes prickle and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “Yeah. I definitely saved the best for last.”

 

End.


End file.
